The Sweet Release of Death

High School,Vampires & The San Juan Mafia

06/08/2010 05:09 PM Filed in:The Douche Chronicles

There’s a saying that is entwined in the movie Jerry Maguire, and its not that lame “Show me the money!” No, it’s a saying that should be etched into brass, mounted on oak and hung on the wall in every business across this great land; except Corporate Land. The saying? Its that jewel of perfection that rolled out of Jay Mohr’s pretty little mouth: “ its not show friends, its show business.” Nepotism runs rampant here and lets not even get into the kink of the Good Old’ Boy Club. If you are not in the right clique, well, you are just not that cool. The only thing missing from this hellhole of degradation is an uppity squad of empty-headed cheerleaders.

High school was aggravating and lame the first time, and there are days that feel as if I have stepped through the Portal of Absolute Shallowness and been delivered to first period biology class. Fuck me if that ain’t a way to start the day. The Execs have their own little sinister circle they run in that’s a given (gerbil sacrifices in the woods at lunch, weekly spanking parties; usually dressed in full Nazi regalia.) There are The Miserables– those that can barely stand the thought of getting out of bed let alone entertain the idea of coming into work they hate it so much– a group that as of late has grown exponentially in size (I’m man enough to admit that I have joined their ranks.) There are the Lifers and the Cruisers and lest we forget, those adorable life coaches: The Temps.

But there is a group that is firmly entrenched into the fiber of Corporate Land so slippery and beguiling, they make the evilest of Klingons look like milquetoast neighbors of Ward and June Cleaver. Who are they you ask? They are not a movement as much as they are a force for they are: The San Juan Mafia. Like a pack of bean sprout-fueled distempered teacup poodles, they pump out more passive-aggressive behavior than McDonald’s does quarter-pounders. Yep. High school. The SJM are like that backstabbing annoying twat Tiffany from your Home Ec class: “Did you see Susan? Oh. My. God! What a stupid skank! She is sooo slutty!” Enter Susan: “oh hi Susan! Can you go to the mall with me tonight? I want to get a top like yours… its bitchin!”

The San Juan Mafia – an evil force spawned from the blood spilled from their sacrificial retarded cocker spaniel, an evil exported from the quaint, sleepy chain of islands off the northern coast of Washington state. Think hillbilly Twilight and you’ll be cooking with grease. The San Juan Mafia is comprised of a circle of close friends that grew up together on the islands and one by one, have been brought aboard the Good Ship Lollipop, further darkening its already sinister heart. Their motto: “Covet that that is of our own and fuck the rest,” is stitched into the backs of their underwear, inked in the blood of a newt and stitched with hair of a Cabbage Patch Kid. Their evil power is kept in the form of a pig’s ear placed in a pickle jar with the souls of a thousand houseflies. The jar rests in the protective clutches of a mummified circus clown entombed in an abandoned outhouse, deep in the woods of Orcas Island.

Just as silver bullets stop werewolves and wooden stakes halt vampires, it has been said that a necklace of soiled urinal cakes placed around the neck of an SJM soldier, will incapacitate them for a brief moment– this gives you time to inject the Vial of Proper Business Ethics into their rhino-tough hide. The San Juan Mafia never go quietly when they are dispatched– a sight of arms flailing, explosive bouts of vomiting maple syrup and candy corn, followed by guttural renditions of Broadway show tunes. So as teenage vampires run amok in the woods of Port Angeles, feasting on the air headed minds of prom queens, The San Juan Mafia roam between the four, cold, life-sucking walls of Corporate Land. I wonder if Costco sells urinal cakes in bulk? I have a lot of necklaces to make.

Tags: Twilight, Port Angeles, High School, Klingons,