The Pauls I Know

I walked my lady's dog into a snow globe the other night.
MaxiPad flakes teeter-tottered onto us while I waited for the dog to do dog things-
Well, mammal things.
There arose such a clatter, and I noticed across the street a man sifting through garbage, looking for empty aluminum nickles.
I watched them as he continued unaware of me.
Flakes of snow dusted his jacket. Shoulders. Home, presumably.
I saw this amidst the tranquility and thought to myself:
"Fuck, that's right. I have to get a job."

I had one and then I lost one.
Barring my usual misemployments, this layoff was legitimate in that I was seasonal and the season ended.
I assumed that my charm would carry my through after the fact, but that didn't happen.
I used to believe that my charm would take care of a lot of things for me.
Explains my current state, I guess.
(My state is fine [solid. carbon-based]).
I used to have a job, as I have mentioned.
One day while half-assing it, I wandered into ladies' wear.
Y'know, in the two months I was there, I barely entered ladies' wear.
Never one for the ladies, I only wandered there when necessary.
On a related note, it's really uncomfortable to transact underwear for old women.
Scrubs are in ladies' wear.
A lot of nurses.
A lot of people being vomited on while they're at their job.
As I'm hanging stuff up in the wrong places, I notice this guy emerge from the change room.
He's trying some scrubs on - pants and a top - and while wearing them he begins...lunging.
Sort of.
He does a slow, deliberate forward motion with his hands and torso.
Picture Tai Chi done incorrectly.
Very low to the carpet, he does this several times.
Foul as usual, I find this really annoying.
"Who's this asshole?" I ask myself.
I do this before asking a co-worker the same question.
"Hey Lydia (not her real name), what's with this guy?"
Turns out it's her roommate, Paul.
He's buying scrubs for work and he's testing whether or not the top is too small.
He's a masseuse.
After that, I realize that his pantomimes were kinda harmless and justified.
I also realize that the real asshole isn't Paul the Masseuse, but Paul the Sales Associate.

Everything rhymes with Paul.
From 'ball' to 'y'all', and a surprising number of grunts and sounds besides.
First a disciple. Then a Beetle. Finally a judgy blogger.
I've never referred to myself by that term before.
I'm only doing so now because I'm trying to attract advertisers.
I was searching some person or another on the Internet the other day (there are plenty of them).
Pretend it was Billy Joel.
So, I typed in the 'Billy' and then the 'J'.
Then, of course, Google predicted I was looking for the Pianoman, and brought his name to the top of the list.
And I thought about what a technological honour this would be.
Your popularity is so great that the first letter of your surname begets the rest of it.
Thought I'd give it a try.
I was floored to see that Paul Warford was the first to pop up.
I realized that it was because I was using my phone, and so that was the most popular Paul on my phone.
As if that matters.
On another computer, I did the trick and the first Paul W was this guy.
Some vampire movie asshole.
Some upstart.
However, there are few names in the running for this competition.
All I have to do is bide my time.
Wait until Paul Walker runs out of Fast Car Movies to do.
Hope this Wesley kid ODs sooner than later.
Then it's just a matter of people continuing to not know who Paul Williams is, and I'm in!
Until then, I'll be several letters, and one career, short.