Don’t Fire Until You See The Frights Of Their Eyes
Is it “legal?” Yee haw!!! Let’s do it!
A canned hunt is a trophy hunt in which an animal is kept in a confined area, such as in a fenced-in area, increasing the likelihood of the hunter obtaining a kill. According to one dictionary, a canned hunt is a “hunt for animals that have been raised on game ranches until they are mature enough to be killed for trophy collections.”
Source: Wikipedia
If, like me, you ask, “What the fuck is a trophy hunt?” here’s a little help:
Trophy hunting is the selective hunting of wild game animals. Although parts of the slain animal may be kept as a hunting trophy or memorial (usually the skin, antlers and/or head), the carcass itself is sometimes used as food.
Source: Wikipedia
Yup. There’s stuff going on in the world that I can’t possibly imagine.
Dear Guru: Winning Easter Eggs
Q.
Dear Guru,
How will my child perform during this year’s Easter egg hunt? How can I guarantee The Win?
Signed,
Holy Redshirter
P.S. Oh yeah. Almost forgot… Praise Jesus!
A.
What astute questions! Rest easy. You have come to the right place. Clearly if anyone ever deserved The Win it is your precocious child. Something is cracked and/or smells around here and it’s not just the eggs.
The answer, of course, depends on a complex variety of factors including your child’s gifts, level of motivation, and unfortunately, no small amount of luck. With proper planning, however, the nefarious element of random chance can be minimized.
What I mean to say is, just how far are you and your child willing to go? How badly do you really want those coveted eggs?
Staff Infection Meeting
I once quit a job over a staff meeting. True story. I’m sure it’s documented here on the blog somewhere, but long story short, they made us on the 6am crew stick around for a 5pm meeting. I asked, “Is it important?” Our managers assured us it was. “You have to be there,” they said.
The meeting started and the first item of business was rolling out birthday cake for our safety director. At 5-fucking-o-clock. It’s not like most of us would be consuming dinner any time soon.
Then, for the icing on the cake, the rest of the hour was consumed by our managers reading memos to us. Line-by-line. Word-by-word. Like we were in kindergarten or something. Memos that had previously been delivered to our inboxes. Memos I had already read on my very own. It was worse than an insult to our intelligence. It was calling us babies.
After the meeting I opted to go back to my desk rather than heading straight home. I sat there and wrote out a memorandum of my own. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s a classic piece of Americana called the letter of resignation. I plopped that puppy on my manager’s desk and then called it day.
Good times.
In another place and another time there was another staff meeting. This one involved the quintessential management tool known as the employee survey.
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Shouts from the Abyss 
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