Tag Archives: dropout

March of the Gerbils

Hi! Remember me?

That chittering sound can only mean one thing…

He’s baaaaaaaack!

And now, the top stories from the gerbil desk. (For those new to this blog, please check in at the G.R.I.P.E. Headquarters to pick up your visitor badge.)

First, the case of the missing car keys. The spare key to my wife’s car has been missing for eons. The gerbil, of course, took the blame. The other day I hopped in my car and a knob had fallen off the radio. When I got home I checked under the seat and found that pesky knob. I also found the missing car keys!

This is an odd sensation. The gerbil was falsely accused.

“That’s one for you, Gerbil!” I shouted to no one in particular. Back to you, Tom.

Thanks, Tom. In light of all the negativity in the world today, we try to bring our viewers feel good news when we can. It’s nice to start off the broadcast on the right foot.

Now, on to darker news…

We know where the gerbil lives, but he fiercely prevents us from visiting. We are allowed as near as the end of the driveway – no farther! We originally suspected a commune with a slightly eccentric couple who owns the property. But now we suspect the urge for privacy is drug related. One piece of recent evidence that points in that direction – The gerbil recently updated his Facebook page and prominently featured pictures of a “bud” of marijuana. Rather than completing school and/or getting a job, the gerbil has apparently chosen the path of worshiping a plant, which, at least for now, is still illegal in this country. Good luck with that, gerbil!

Last, but not least, we bring you news from the world of camping. My wife and I recently roughed it in the woods relying only our wits for survival. Well, our wits and our camping gear. My wife was quite alarmed when she dug into the gear and found that some items were missing. All of the steak knives were gone and there was only one fork. The prevailing theory? The gerbil needed some utensils when he moved out, so he did what comes naturally – steal from those who were there for him the most. Classy.

So, while out camping recently, my wife and I had the opportunity to experience extra intimacy and closeness by sharing a single fork for four days. Thanks, gerbil! Fork you very much.

Singing the Praises of my Boss

He took me under his wing. Literally, one day, he wrapped that stinky, unwashed meat of an arm around my shoulders and imparted his wisdom.

“Tommy boy,” he said. “You stink. You’ve been pooping in your pants again, haven’t you?”

I nodded.

He walked me across the room and showed me a strange, wondrous thing. It was a door.

“Beyond here,” he said, “lies a thing known as a toilet. You pull down your pants, sit on it – make sure the lid is up and the seat is down, mind you – and go there instead of your pants.”

“Really?” I gasped. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much! I never knew of such things. What would I do without you?”

“Also,” he added. “Don’t forget to wipe your ass. And I see you turning blue sometimes. Don’t forget to breath. Oh yeah, eat food and drink water, too. Or you might die.”

It was one of those life changing events for me. I was going to live thanks to the wisdom of my boss!

As I often like to say, I used to be somebody. I was in management. I was trusted to work autonomously and supervise employees on behalf of my company. And, not to brag or anything, but I also have a genius-level I.Q.

Then I moved to a small town where I had to lick ass in order to make ends meet. That’s where my boss steps in.

Is it wrong for me to feel offended when he treats me like a kindergarten dropout incapable of wiping my own ass?

One day, out of pure necessity I assure you, he took me aside and “trained” me on how to close the store. He had no choice since he wouldn’t be there.

I can still remember it. Close and lock the safes, turn out the lights, punch in the alarm code, and lock the door.

Whew. That’s a lot to remember!

Over time I even added my own flourishes to the procedure, like closing the blinds and making sure the thermostat was set for the night. (He must have not wanted to overload me.)

Here’s the rub. When he leaves early he always goes over and locks the safes. This highly offends me. It’s like he’s saying, “You can’t be trusted. I better do this for you.” It might sound petty, but if you were in my shoes, you’d know that he treats his employees like this all day long, even over things as trivial as a piece of tape.

It doesn’t matter if you’ve never fucked it up, not even once. He’ll be there to impart his wisdom so your truly little brain might have a chance at understanding.

This week, he left early. He went over and closed the safes. But then he added something new. “I like to make sure the safes are closed before closing the shop.”

Really??? HOLY FUCK SHIT!!! Does the New York Times know about this? How about the Wall Street Journal? They might want to bump motherfucking Obama from their opinion pages.

I mean, who the fuck knew that a safe had to be closed and locked to be effective? I thought that even with the door open the shit inside was somehow magically protected!!!

Why didn’t anyone ever tell me this before??? How have I managed to survive so long on this planet without your invaluable knowledge and insight???

You must really love me to hire someone as woefully stupid as me. I’m so lucky. Thank you, boss. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Oops. I just went stinky in my pants again. Dammit, boss! Where are you?!?