Breaking News: Winter is cold!
Come what may.
This just in: The Earth’s tilt (or spin axis, if you will) is still 23.5 degrees. Ooooh, yikes. That’s a mite chilly, mate. 23 freaking degrees?!? Are we talking fahrenheit or celsius? Either way, that’s colder than [insert your own obscene colloquialism here] in a pickle jar!
That’s pretty damn cold.
Weather segments on the local news have always been a bit extreme, full of histrionics and hyperbole. ZOMG, tomorrow there’s going to be wet, sun, fog, humidity, wind, mist, hail, and, worst of all, clouds. No shit? Really? Ya think?
Tell you what? If you can successfully predict before it happens when lizards will fall out of the sky, wake me up. Okay? Until then? Shut your fucking omen hole.
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Timeline: Demo T. Vader
Demo is in the house, yo!
Every morning the guru of negativity loads up his Facebook which pushily insists, “What’s on your mind?”
Oh no. I’m not about to fall for that one.
The people you’ve connected with on Facebook are called “friends.” Laws, yes. Friends. Good one!
Of the various types of content on Facebook, my favorite goes a little something like this:
- The opening: You want something. State what it is. Ex: “I’m curious how people feel about my sexual organs.”
- The insult: Get things rolling with a jab at your so-called “friends.” Ex: “I know only approx. 4-1/2 of you ever read my posts.”
- The hook: Describe the payoff in terms of pleasure centers of the brain that will glow upon compliance. “I’m going to give you a chance to prove your friendship.”
- The plea: This is the objective, the thing you hope to see accomplished. Ex: “Reply to this with a graphic description of your favorite sexual organ on my body. Sexual organs only, please!”
- The demanding social element: This is self-explanatory. Ex: “You must then copy this to your own timeline so my ego can grow. Please don’t comment and not copy to your own timeline.”
Out of respect, I’m not going to comment because I have absolutely no intention of following your rules. Thanks for trying to control me, though.
For the record:
- Yes, I actually read your shit. And I loathe myself for it.
- You can’t handle the truth. I won’t comment on our alleged “friendship.”
- It’s news to me that you have sexual organs so I’m unable to comment further.
- I will decide what pieces of evil hate go on my timeline. Not you. Nice effort, though.
- A real friend wouldn’t have done this. Thanks for reinforcing my theories.
Has Facebook invented a squelch feature yet or must I continue to be subjected to this crap with a little help from my friends?
Christmas bonus – some restrictions may apply
Ah. What a dilemma. What to get the employee who has nothing?
It was mid-2011 and my wife’s employer had already announced there wouldn’t be any Christmas bonuses. A few key people were laid off and replaced with fresher and more inexpensive ones. (Good management is hard to miss.)
And yet, when Christmas rolled around, management had one more surprise up their sleeve. Yes, Virginia, there is a Christmas bonus, although, in this case, interpretation of the word “bonus” can be a wee bit tricky.
It was a little something that made my $50 Walmart gift card look like a gift from the Gods.
Can you even guess what her “bonus” might be? Close your eyes and try to imagine it before reading further.
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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?”
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?!?