you may
Corke works at a gas station
at the local fucking gas station. Not so much. The night shift is staffed with
the best of whomever they can fucking get. See where I'm going with this?
Corke is their ringleader. Corke is a stereotypical, standard issue fucking early
forties down on his luck, slavently fucking, pooh-marked face, pieces shit mother fucker.
Crit at score of five fucking twelve lives with his mom because he just got out
of the fucking can walks to work unless he finds a fucking bicycle to steal from
someone teetering on the edge of mental retardation.
Okay, let me qualify that statement real quick. In the abstract, I don't have a
problem with people of low IQ. Why would I? The world needs ditch diggers and
jiffy lubed fucking text, right? The world needs gas station attendance. The
world needs the guy who fucking does the landscaping and washes the fucking
parking lot of McDonald's. The world needs those people. I don't have any
problem with low IQ people. However, low IQ people who are also assholes, they
fucking bother me. And Corke is an asshole. He may be the prototypical low IQ
asshole. He may be the template that all low IQ assholes strive to become one
day. Corke is a fucking dick and he's dumb. My first altercation with Corke happened
after a particularly trying day at the job. I walk in there, I get a text order from
the fucking people at the house, will you please pick up this, this and this on the
way? On the gas station is conveniently located. Again, good job, Casey's. So I
whip in there real quick and I've got an arm low to stuff. I set it down on the
counter. Corke is leaning leaning on one elbow with his fucking stupid small
carnival worker, fucking hand pressed to the side of his pockmark sweaty fucking
pasty face. He looks at me with those fucking dead drug-abusing eyes and just
start scanning. No greeting, nothing. Which again, I'm about. Don't hit me with
your small talk. Fuck you and your small talk. But this is where Corke and I ran into
problems. I had like 17 items. I don't know if it was that many. I had like
legitimately nine items and I looked at him and I was like, hey man, can I get
that in a bag? And he just looked at me and rolled his fucking eyes like I had
just asked him to build the great wall. Well, that particular day I had had
enough of conforming to societal norms and I looked at fucking Corke right in his
dishonest fucking pissy eyes. Oh, I'm sorry, my bad is bagging shit up.
Outside of your job description, should I just fuck off and do it myself? And he
just looked at me startled stunned. No one had ever bothered to push back on
Corke's fucking passive cutiness like this. You could tell. It's like somebody
had slapped him in the face. And I said, well, never mind, Corke, I'll bagged his
shit up myself. And he starts putting the stuff in the bag. And I said, you know
bro, if you don't like your job, there's probably other jobs you can get. Your job
is literally to check stuff out and make sure the cigarettes are stocked and
put shit in bags. And then I left. Well, today I went back. Corke was there as
usual. I walked in the door. He looked up at me visibly stiffened and then went
back to doing a pissboard job at customer service. I ran through the building
real quick out the few items I needed and then walked up and presented them
politely if silently to Corke. Corke looked up at me with those fucking dead
might actually suck dick for rock eyes and slapped open a plastic bag. That's all
it took. I gestured to the hat on top of his head and I said deadpool had, huh?
That checks out. He goes, what do you mean by that? I said, well, it's generally
understood that only fucking losers wear deadpool gear, dude. His mouth just
dropped open in shock. He goes, what? And I said, deadpool fans are 100% of
time losers. Just understand that you're wearing deadpool gear. It is advertising
to everyone who comes in this store that they're being served by a fucking loser.
I'm letting him have it here. I'm really fucking given it to Corke because I
fucking hate Corke. I fucking hate Corke. I fucking hate him. I fucking hate
Corke. I hate Corke and everything he fucking stands for with his fucking
pockmarked face and he's missing half of a fucking eyebrow probably from a fucking motorcycle
wreck. That fits the bill. Tattoo's on his fucking neck, gnarled ass goddamn fingers,
collapsed fucking veins, laxed asical fucking attitude. Look on his face like I should just
be happy. He fucking showed up to work today. Fucking Corke. Sloppy, slavinely fucking
dressed, disgusting fucking gut hanging over the top of his fucking beltless pants.
Corke. Standard issue classic fucking pieces shit. Fuck Corke. I'm really letting him
have it today. So anyway. I don't like Corke. So back to the story. I said that, you know,
bit about being a fucking loser if you were in Deadpool gear. And I said, now don't
get me wrong, Corke. Any kind of stiffens. And you can tell he's wanting to interject
that his name is not Corke. I can't stress that enough. I don't know if his fucking name
is Corke or not, but in my mind, that's what I've named him. Corke. You know who he looks
like? Pause the fuck, you know who he looks like? Pause the fucking story. Light bulb.
Corke looks like this guy. Just watch yourself. We want it, man. I have the desert and sun
12 systems. Corke looks like this guy from Star Wars Episode 4 in the cantina scene. That
is almost exactly what Corke looks like. That is Corke holy shit that may actually be Corke's
dad. Anyway, just to put a vision in your mind, this guy from Star Wars Episode 4 in
the cantina scene. Is the spitting image of Corke or I guess I should say that Corke
is the spitting image of the guy from Star Wars. Okay, raining it back in here. I said
all that shit about, you know, being a loser if you're wearing Deadpool gear. And then
I called him Corke and he opened his mouth. I could tell he was opening his mouth to tell
me his real name. I don't want to fucking know your name, Corke. I'm perfectly happy
with thinking that your name is Corke in my fucking mind for the rest
rest of my life. Corke, I don't want you to get it fucked up. You're not a loser because
you wear Deadpool gear. No, taking off the Deadpool gear is not going to make you less
of a loser. What I'm saying is that you're a loser, so of course you have some Deadpool
gear. Okay, are we done here? And then I grab my shit and I walked out the door. Well
fast forward to me being in the parking lot and I am there putting anifries in my aging
and not very mechanically sound pickup truck. And I hear an excuse me behind me. And I turn
around and it's, uh, it's Corke and he's there with a trash bag. Could have just as easily
been a shotgun. By the way, I don't want you to think that that was lost on me. He's
there with a trash bag and he's getting ready to change the trash out by the gas pumps.
And he goes, excuse me. I turn around and I was like, what's up man? He goes, I, I got
to say I think, uh, I think you and I've gotten off on the wrong foot. I was like, oh shit.
Okay. So I sit down my anifries and started to listen to Corke. He goes, I hate this fucking
job. I hate it. He goes, but part of my deal with the government is I have to hold a job
down a specific job that they got me for a specific number of months until I'm free to pursue
my own profession. I'm a concrete worker by trade. That's what I do. I have to hold this
job for another six months and I know my attitudes bad. And a lot of times, uh, the time of
day you come in. I've just had it with everyone and everything. And I'm in a really bad mood.
I'm going to intimidate him a little bit. I thought about all the times that I didn't have to say
the shitty thing to Corke but I did anyway. And then that got me thinking about how much I
fucking hate sassy fat white women. But when it comes to Corke, I do the fucking same thing that
they do. I treated Corke like shit just because I had an idea built up in my mind of who he was.
And I guess I thought I was better than him. That's not what I do. I'm not one of those people
who just automatically assumes based on someone's appearance or demeanor in a moment in a snippet of
time that I am better than that person and can therefore treat them like shit. I've always
prided myself on being kind to everyone, whether they fucking deserve it or not. But for some
fucking reason, Corke didn't make the cut. And here he is standing in front of me pouring out his
soul telling me all the shit that he's been through in his life and how the fucking cards are
stacked against him. And yes, he was hooked on fucking meth for a while. And it. It took him go into prison
to fucking get clean and he's never going to go down that road again. And he's got a wife and a
family. And he's really trying to turn his shit around. And he's really fucking pouring himself out
in the parking lot of that gas station trying to find common ground with me. And I feel bad.
Like I feel fucking bad legitimately feel like shit about the way that I have fucking talked
down to and degraded Corke for the better part of two years. And maybe not quite two years, probably a
year, the better part of a year. Every time I walk in that gas station from the first interaction
with Corke where he slapped open the fucking plastic bag after rolling his eyes. Ever since then,
I always have something fucked up to say to Corke. So he's standing there. And he's really just
gushing like literally pouring out his fucking soul talking to me about his hopes and dreams. And
what he wanted to do when he got off of this parole and how he was going to start his own contracting
firm and work concrete for all the big companies. And how he's got a group of guys that he thinks
are going to come to work for him. And he's really moving in a positive direction. He hasn't had any
desire to do methamphetamine in quite a while. He doesn't even drink anymore. The only thing
that he allows himself for cigarettes and he smokes cigarettes. The cheapest he can find because
he has a family to provide for working at this gas station. And he feels like we got off on the
wrong foot. And while he never said that I treated him unfairly, he did say that I'm one of the
meanest fucking people he's ever met. And he's sorry that he got on, got on my bad side in a moment
of weakness. And I stood there and I took all that in. And I've never seen a grown-ass man really
pull out their fucking soul like that to somebody before. Like it was humbling. It was humbling.
The emotions that were going through me, it was crazy. I mean the guys' eyes were
welling up as he was talking to a perfect stranger about all the shit he'd been through in his life.
And all the self-imposed shit that had happened to him in his life. And he was really pouring his
fucking guts out right there on that asphalt fucking parking lot underneath the overhang for the gas pumps
to the trash can that he was supposed to be changing. The emotions I was feeling, I was feeling shame and regret
and chastising myself for being just like those fucking sassy fat white women who scream at fucking
grocery store clerks. Like I literally did the same thing as those fucking giant behemoth
I thought that you were being a pussy. But then as you kept on going, it was confirmed. Your vagina
has left a snail trail all over this parking lot. You're probably gonna have to clean up. Then I got
in my truck and went home. The moral of that story is don't be a bitch. Segment to.
I use YouTube the way most guys use Walmart. You know if you're ever in a Walmart and you see a guy
in there by himself and he's not being dragged around by some fucking broad, typically what you see
as a man on a mission, he is there for a specific fucking number of things. He goes and he gets those
things and he gets the fuck out. I use YouTube in that exact same way. I'm there for a specific
fucking reason. I get what I've came for and then I fucking bail. For example, the last time I was
on YouTube, I was looking at oil pan gasket replacement process for my 1994 F-150. As it turns out,
step number one is remove a motor mount. Okay, well, I'm out on that. I'm gonna send that to the
fucking pros. But that is the example that I use for the way I consume and the way I utilize a
resource like YouTube. So I'm not really sure how the fuck I ended up finding affirmations. But I did.
Do you know what affirmations are? Listen to this shit. This blows my mind. If you go to YouTube and
you punch in affirmations, you are going to be bombarded with videos of people talking over the
top of soothing music much like I'm doing here, except they're not saying hateful shit or they're
not just fucking chatting you up. What they're doing is they're giving you hour long sessions of
confidence boosting shit. It absolutely blew my mind. Like who would consume this horse shit.
But apparently people do to the tune of 25 to 30 million views on some of these fucking videos.
Now I did the math based on easily Googleable information as to how much revenue a run of the
mill affirmation video is going to generate from YouTube ads or views or I don't understand exactly
how it works. But based on ad revenue algorithms or some shit, a YouTube video with 10 million views
will have earned anywhere between 25 and 53,000 fucking dollars over the course of its run on
on the platform. I mean, that's that's serious money. And some of these people on there's just one
lady in particular and I'm not going to fucking look it up because I don't care that much. But there's
this one lady in particular who has a series of these affirmation type videos. I think her biggest
video is 27 million views. The smallest video of hers that I saw had like 8 million views.
Jesus fuck that's a full-time job. That's a full-time job making comfortable fucking money.
So I thought to myself, I can do this. I don't have an absolutely unpleasant voice. I can
fucking sit down and say really nice positive shit to people for 20, 30 minutes at a time.
That's why I'm fucking totally going to do it. So that's exactly what I'm going to do here today
because if you have people sitting out there because if there are people financing their
fucking lifestyle with videos telling suckers and fucking losers how powerful they are,
why can't I be one of those assholes? Lorenzo's affirmations. And then when I get done with this,
so I'm going to do this bit for the podcast and then I'm going to take the fucking audio of
the affirmation and I'm literally going to make a YouTube video and put it on YouTube.
That's what's going to happen. Lorenzo reads affirmations. I think is what it'll be called.
Okay, let's give this a shot. Positivity positivity positivity. Wait a minute, is this third person
or first person? Am I doing this video like I'm saying this shit to me or am I doing this video
like I'm talking about you fucking hell. Okay, hang on. See, this is what I'm talking about.
Why the fuck am I not more organized? I knew I was going to fucking do this bit today.
Why don't I have all my shit in one sock? See, affirmations. Here we go.
I am excited to start this day. Motivated and ready to achieve my goals.
Okay, so that's it. So it's first person. It's I will be saying the affirmation and then
pausing, trusting that you will then say the affirmation after after me this fucking self-help
will be shit
Okay, let's fucking do it. Positivity positivity positivity positivity
you're not fucking I had to get off my chest. Okay, now let's
you know, let's get serious. Good morning, cut. Oh, fuck, I can't stop being an asshole.
Okay, positivity being serious. This is not a fucking joke. Here we go.
Lorenzo Lorenzo's affirmations take two. I have a giant meaty shlong.
Okay, okay, okay, so
fuck, I need to listen to more than that for me. She's because I'm sitting here.
It all I can think of are is is fucking ridiculous shit. Okay, now stop fucking around.
We're gonna do we're gonna do this for real now.
Or the negativity that I feel within myself. So what if I live in my mom's basement?
I can be anything I want to be. So what if I have four ingrown toenails? I can run that marathon.
It doesn't matter. That's what I'm trying to
but my own vision. The vision that I have for myself and of myself.
It doesn't matter that everyone in the community knows that I pick my nose and eat it while driving.
It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is how I feel about myself.
And I'm powerful. God damn it. I'm one of the realest mother fuckers around.
So what if my ass smells like sour milk?
The vision that I have for my future is clear. So what if babies cry when they see my grotesque form
and my giant sausage fingers reaching towards them to give them a kuchi kuchi kuchi.
I know that I will have a family of my own someday and my children will not cry
and have the ability and the motivation and the drive and the talent to become a real estate magnate if I so choose.
So what if I've been unemployed since the last blockbuster closed down?
I know that I am employable regardless of how many fucking tattoos I have on my neck.
So what if I've never gotten pussy for free? I know that I could attract any woman I want
with my sheer personal magnetism. I know that because I am fucking powerful.
So what if I shart weakly? So what if I'm incontinent? So what if I have a gland issue that makes me smell like salami?
The people who don't like me weren't worth my time anyway because I'm powerful.
Mom says I'm a catch.
So what if I don't make it to the bathroom on time? I keep trying, don't I?
Don't I wake up in the night and keep trying? I'm a modern success story.
As long as I quit drinking Kool-Aid by 8 p.m. I won't pee the bed
and one day I'll never pee the bed again because I am fucking powerful.
I'm the real deal. You're talking to the Rolex, Warren, diamond ring, Warren,
jet, flying, kiss, stealing, wheeling, dealing, son of a gun. And I'm having a hard time.
Keeping these alligators down. All the women want to come ride space mountain,
including that fat one right there. Because I kiss all the girls and make them all cry.
I'm so fucking powerful. I'm so fucking needed. I am enough. I am not too much. I can be
anything I want to be. I have the ability to rise to new heights previously unknown by humanity.
So what if I have boils on my back? None of that matters. What matters is my vision,
my sense of power, my sense of well-being, and my confidence in knowing where I'm going,
and how I'm going to get there. Even though I don't know how I'm going to get there.
I've been working at a gas station and recently got fired because they accused me of stealing beef
jerky. So what if all I care about is Pokemon right now? So what if I've been known to
sucked it behind the little seasors to get the pizza they're going to throw away? A man's got a
fucking eat, but it's not always going to be this way. I know that because I have confidence in
myself and my own abilities. I'm going to be somebody. There's nothing I cannot do except manual
labor. I can't do manual labor. Oh, and I can't work more than six hours a day. That's just too much.
Oh, and I can't really walk that far. Oh, and I can't stand to have lunch that isn't spaghetti
os. Oh, and I can only work between the hours of noon and 6 p.m. Because I'm really not trying to
wake up early. And if I work too late in the day, I'll miss all my programs. Oh, and I can't work
Saturdays because that's when I play Fortnite with all my online friends. Oh, and I can't work Sunday
because I have church. I don't I don't really go, but I have it. And I remember the Sabbath day to
keep it holy. That's one of the commandments. But I can I can I can I can do anything that I want to
do and I can be successful. There's no limit to my potential. And there's no heights that I can't
rise to if I'm only given an opportunity to show exactly what I can do. Like I can have one of those
office jobs. I can have one of those jobs where you sit around and think. Except I have to have at
least 45 45 minutes during a work day to kind of decompress. I want I don't like it when people tell
me what to do. I can't I can't function in that environment. But if you need a captain of industry,
I'm your guy. I have the ability, the wherewithal and and dare I say it the moxie. I have the moxie
to be a captain of industry. As long as you don't ever tell me what to do, I can't I just I just can't
I can't deal with that. I can't deal with it. And I shouldn't have to I shouldn't have to deal with it
because I'm fucking powerful. Okay. I'm powerful. And I am a fucking winner. I'm a winner.
Mom says I'm a catch. I'm I'm going to say it again. Mom says I'm a fucking catch.
She knows my mom knows. My fourth dad believed in me too. Okay. The fifth one not so much. The sixth
when we're still the jury still fucking out on that. But my the fourth one thought I was I was just
as powerful as anyone else. And he believed in me too. His name was Eric. And if an Eric knows Eric
knows people. He knows people inside and out. He's been the most successful tech at the fucking
jiffy Loube for 15 years. Eric knows. So I'm powerful. And I'm I'm I can I can do anything
except don't ask me to check email. I don't know what it is. Email fucking confuses me. If you
need me, it call me or shoot me a text. And I will be powerful as fuck on the text or on phone calls.
But emails I just I can't ever find emails when people send them to me. I don't it's the way that
they get that they get categorized and stacked. I can't fucking figure it out. But if I really wanted
to I could fucking figure it out. Don't get that fucked up. I could figure out email if I needed to
because I'm fucking smart. Make this part of your every day, either in the morning for 20 minutes a
day. Or listen to me when you go to sleep. And I will give you all the affirmation you can handle
and all the affirmation you need to grow into the person that you can be. Boing me again soon.
For more Lorenzo reads affirmations. And there we go. I finally got through it.
Lorenzo's affirmations. Be looking for it to pop up on YouTube. I'm gonna slap some fucking video
on it and post it to YouTube just as soon as I can. And I will be anxiously awaiting all of that
fucking ad revenue to start rolling in. Anyway, do a brother of favor head over to fucking YouTube and
look at my affirmation video Lorenzo reads affirmations. Put it on repeat or some shit like that.
My truck's 31 years old. Well, that's just about gonna do it for this episode. Of Miss
and Throat Radio 2.0. Thanks for your listening. Tell a friend. Leave a review. I hear that they're
important. Alright, well, until next time.