I hate how some people lie about what they do for a living. My job isn’t that impressive, but I have no problem telling others about it. I’m the head cashier at a Thrifty Drugstore.

“But, Smivey,” you say, “Thrifty doesn’t exist anymore.” Yeah, that’s what they want you to believe. But the truth is, there’s still one in Arizona, hundreds of feet below the Earth’s surface. It’s all part of a giant underground city designed to protect one person. Yeah, that’s right. I work at the President’s Thrifty.

“But why does the President need a drugstore?”

Jeeze, imaginary reader, you are so fucking inquisitive today. I’l tell you why. What if he cuts his finger? Where the hell is he gonna get a bandage? He’d bleed to death, and then where would we be? Uh huh. And what if he gets a craving for some honey-roasted almonds? That would be bothering him all day and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on saving the world and shit. More importantly, what if he wanted a cylindrical scoop of Thrifty chocolate chip ice cream? There’s nowhere else in the world that he could possibly get that. OK, except for Rite-Aid. Those motherfuckers. But where do you think Rite-Aid gets their Thrifty ice cream?

Yeah, that’s right. We make the Thrifty ice cream down here. Otherwise, it would be pretty boring. Occasionally, a diplomat will stop by for an Abazaba or a Coke. But otherwise, we just hang out here, making ice cream and taking turns singing over the PA system. Oh, and we also process the President’s film. Man, you would not believe the kind of shit that guy and the First Lady are into. Creepy.

One time, we selected a particularly raunchy photo of Dubbya and Laura and created this enourmous banner to surprise the Commander In Chief when he arrived. Of course, we never thought that he might show up with his mom and dad. Boy, that was an awkward moment. It took us over an hour to find the ladder and pull the banner down. Barbara Bush immediately covered her eyes, while the former President couldn’t help but stare at the image. I was pretty busy yelling at people, but I swear I saw Bush Senior give his son a thumbs-up for a job well done. We all almost got fired over that. But then I offered everyone free triple scoops. By the time everyone had devoured their ice cream, all was forgiven.

But, yeah, that’s the way it is down here at the President’s Thrifty. So why do I bother staying? Well, it’s kind of a top-secret place, ya know? I mean, people have quit their jobs here. But after that, we never hear from them again. I’m not saying that they got killed by the CIA or anything like that, but I wouldn’t put it past them. Anyhow, it just kind of makes me think twice about looking for a new place of employment. Besides, we’re all looking forward to the next roll of film Bush Jr. sends over here for processing. I just hope nobody tells him about the advantages of digital photography. That would really suck. Which reminds me of the next photo we’re making a banner out of. Wow, Laura Bush. Who woulda thought.

One upon a time, atop a giant hill, there sat an enourmous castle. And in this castle, lived the most hideously ugly princess in all the land. I mean, seriously, this chick was hard to look at. All her sevants had to be nearsighted or legally blind. Otherwise, they’d end up involunatarily coughing up their lunch the moment they caught a glimpse of her.

Of course, nobody was going to tell the princess that she looked like the wrong end of a Shar-Pei. Instead, they would lower their eyes—not out of respect, but out of fear—and comment on how ravishing the princess looked.

“Princess Farta,” they’d say, “you looks so ravishing.”

And Princess Farta would smile, exposing her one purple tooth and her brown gums.

Urp. Sorry, I just threw up a little. Where was I? Oh, right, Farta.

So, yeah, people would lie whenever they they “saw” the princess. And when an unfortunate outsider happened to look straight at the princess and spewed forth the entire contents of his or her stomach, it would always be blamed on a 24-hour bug that was going around. In any case, pretty much everyone lied. Well, everyone but the magic mirror.

The princess would walk up to the magic mirrror and say, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the prettiest girl in the world?” (she couldn’t rhyme worth a shit.)

“Oh, well, isn’t it obvious?” the mirrror would reply. “I mean, yeah, you’re so beautiful. Maybe you should model or something.”

“Really?” the princess would ask.

“Oh, sure, yeah, like you could totallllyyyy be a model.”

“Wow. I never thought of myself as the model type.”

“Yeah, well, I wonder why that is.”

“I don’t know.”

“Honey, take a look in the mirror.”

And princess Farta would look into the mirror and she would smile at what she saw, exposing her purp—

Oh boy. I don’t know if I can finish this story. I mean, it was going to be pretty funny, since it had this kind of clever ending where the magic mirror tells the truth, but it’s always being sarcastic. But Princess Farta is too stupid to realize the change in tone of the mirror’s voice. Anyhow, every time I start writing about Farta’s smile, I get a little queasy. Well, a lot queasy. I need to get my mind off of that mouth. Hm.

Maybe if I think of puppy dogs and fluffy bunnies frolicking in the meadow. Awww so cute. Look at them wrestling with each other. The puppies really like the bunnies. So adorable. Wait a minute. They’re not playing! Hey, puppies! No! Stop! Oh the humanity! UGH! What a masacre. You’d think the bunnies would be able to fend for themselves. That’s just wrong. I blame myself for putting the bunnies in the same meadow as the puppies. That was stupid. Well, at least I’m not thinking of that mouth anym— ACK!

Fuck this. I give up. I’m calling my shrink.

First of all, I want to make something clear. I don’t believe that someone should use their blog to plug products or services. That said, sometimes you just have to break the rules. Especially when it’s for something you really believe in.

About a week ago, my left thumb started to hurt. Every hour or so, the pain would transfer to my right thumb. This went on throughout the day until the pain became so unbearable, I had to see someone about it.

So I went to my doctor and described what I had been experiencing. He took some x-rays, around a gallon of blood and then ran through the test results with me. It turns out, I have a rare affliction called vinger pijn. But I was told not worry. There’s a drug available for it and it should clear up in a matter of days.

Well, I’m happy to report that my doctor was right. This is the most amazing drug ever. Not only has my thumb pain gone away completely, my skin looks younger and my eyesight seems to have improved. All with one amazing drug called Placebo.

I simply take one tablet in the morning and another before bedtime. It doesn’t upset my stomach and I can feel it working almost immediately. Oh, and you know how most drugs have all those warnings on their labels? This one doesn’t say shit. I can drive, operate heavy machinery, even juggle knives. It doesn’t matter when you’re taking Placebo.

In fact, one time, I couldn’t find anything to take my tablet with, so I just put the pill in my mouth and swallowed it down. It almost tasted like candy! Seriously. I wish I hadn’t done that though, because now I want to pour the entire bottle in my mouth, which could be very dangerous.

Hang on a sec. I just noticed something. The label says, “Take one tablet at breakfast and one before bed, or as needed.” Sweet. Now I know what it’s like to be a drug addict. Thank you, Placebo!