Twas the Week Before Christmas

Twas the week before Christmas, in cubicle-land
Not a worker was working, you must understand.
The bosses left early for holiday drinks,
Their winter equivalent of hitting the links.

Employees were nestled all snug in their cubes,
Sipping hot chocolate and watching YouTube.
Productivity reached an insurmountable hump,
As they turned off their brains for a post-lunchtime slump.

When from Larry’s office there arose such a clatter,
I took my time getting up to see what was the matter.
Fairly sure it had zero importance to me,
I casually strolled over, just to see.

The sun streaming in through the vertical blinds,
Lit up a great horror of the holiday kind.
When what to my eyes should appear so bizarre?
A Secret Santa gift to Larry, from Marge in HR.

With ceramic white fur and a Santa Claus hat,
I knew in a moment it was a cookie jar cat.
Poor Larry hadn’t words for the gift he’d received,
So he coughed and he snickered, and he passed it to Steve.

“Now listen! Now look! Now hear my admission!
I sank twenty bucks into this stupid tradition!
A gift card to Starbucks is what I bought Nathan,
And all that I get is this Goodwill donation?”

And then, in a twinkling that seemed quite a pity,
Steve let out a sneeze, and down fell the kitty.
It crashed to the floor and it smashed all around,
And then through the doorway came Marge with a bound.

She was dressed all in red, from her shoes to her hair,
Her sweater emblazoned with holiday flair.
She’d been headed out back for her afternoon smoke,
When she followed the laughter from some sort of joke.

Her eyes - how they widened at the sight of her gift,
Her cheeks were likes roses, her nostrils they sniffed.
From her droll little mouth erupted a roar,
The cigarettes dropped from her hand to the floor.

Her skin was of leather, like a burnt up old elf,
And I laughed when I saw her, in spite of myself!
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head,
Soon gave me to know that she wished I was dead.

She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
Salvaging cat pieces, then she turned with a jerk.
“I thought you would like it, not tear it apart!
These jars are exclusive to only Walmart!”

Larry sprang from his desk, his spirit renewed,
Apologized to Marge, and vowed to have it re-glued.
“It was a beautiful gift, full of character and style!
Now please do not mess with my personal file.”

They made their amends and I made my retreat,
To find my own Secret Santa gift left on my seat.
I exclaimed to myself and threw the card in the trash,
“Happy Christmas to me, it’s twenty bucks cash!”

Customer Service 101

Oh, there you are. I’m glad you’re out of your meeting. I had a call come in from a new client! Yes, that one. You’ve been chasing him for over a year now, haven’t you? Well, congratulations! They’ve got a new project starting up and they want us to handle it. I know, it’s unbelievable. So I told him that you were in a meeting and would call him back as soon as possible since we adhere to a “two hour rule.” That’s what you told us about in our customer service training seminar last week. I also thanked him for his patience and assured him that we appreciate his business. Then I told him that you might possibly be a serial killer. I even made sure there was a smile in my voice.

Why are you looking at me like that?

Oh, crap! I forgot to take down his number. I am so sorry. I assumed you already had it, and in between explaining that after work you like to park outside your ex-wife’s house with binoculars and a box of Chinese takeout, I didn’t think to jot it down again just in case. It must be on your desk somewhere though. I’ll help you look for it.

You seem mad. Stressful meeting?

Well you’ll be happy to know that I also asked him if he had any plans for the holidays, just like you taught us during our training seminar last week. “Get to know the clients and make them feel special,” that’s what you said. He told me that he'll be visiting his sister and her kids in San Diego. I told him that you usually spend Christmas Day strung out on bath salts, picking up and dismembering hitchhikers along the interstate.

We should probably add him to our Christmas card list, don’t you think?

Oh, one more thing. He said that after three o’clock you should call him on his cell - ah, geez. I did it again. I forgot to write down his cell number. You know what though? I did get his email address. Just like you requested we do at our customer service training seminar. I told him that if you were unable to return his phone call for any reason, that you would at least send an email as soon as you finished sending photos of yourself to those underage women on Craig's List.

Are you crying? Cheer up! We scored a new client! And if we hadn’t had all that customer service training last week, I may have just put him through to voicemail.

Oh For God's Sake

This is almost as bad as the huge "Comming Soon!" sign I saw outside a shopping plaza last week.

Free Caffeine

Look, free coffee this week!  So when you go through the drive-thru, do you just blow past the first window where you would normally pay?  Or do you stop, wait for the cashier to acknowledge that you're a cheap s.o.b., and then pull up? Maybe it's safer to just go inside.

Boss’s Voice The Absolute Worst, Study Shows

I just noticed this post still sitting in my "Scheduled" folder from May 2011....way to go Blogger.  So here you have it, 16 months later.

 
Introduction

A 2011 double-blind study, conducted by pretty much everybody that has ever worked with you, confirmed that the sound of your voice is, without any margin of error, the absolute worst. While initial results suggested that your voice was somewhat grating on Monday, moderately frustrating on Tuesday through Thursday, vomit-worthy on Friday, and mocked incessantly over beers on Saturday and Sunday, further analysis has concluded that, for real, you should just stop talking. 

Research Method 

The control group, who enjoyed listening to a voice other than yours, continued to live in blissful ignorance of your existence and displayed no desire to bring brass knuckles into the workplace. The experimental group, on the other hand, was subjected to a horrifying, and just plain gross, sequence of longitudinal waves (your voice) that caused auditory discomfort and regular Sunday night sobbing sessions (particularly when the longitudinal waves claimed that they asked for that status report a week ago when all of the test subjects knew damn well that never happened). 

Conclusion 

“An experiment such as this is invaluable to society,” says lead researcher, Vladamir Borscht. “Now, when Boss’s Cell shows up on caller ID, we have the scientific evidence we need to just not fucking answer it.” 

Further studies are needed to determine whether the mere sound of you breathing is enough to kill somebody.

I'm going to need you to work through lunch

Another Sad Day for the Burger King Sign

DIY Fall Frames

Well here they are!

They came out even better than I expected.  I almost bought some cheap sticker letters, but then I saw these wood ones and am so glad I did.  I painted them black, glued them to some scapbook paper, took the glass out of the frames, and that was it.  I also have an "L" last name so I can even keep the L ones out year round.

When Ordering Sandwiches For Your Boss Isn't Fulfilling Enough

Before I had a kid I used to do a lot of scrapbooking.  This was back when I could spend an entire Sunday watching Lifetime movies with a cup of coffee, a glue stick, and a package of stickers that said cool things like "Ho Ho Ho!"  Ironically, now that I have a child whose face could potentially fill 14,000 pages of scrapbooks, I've stopped completely.  I mostly stopped because I no longer had the time.  But I also stopped because while scrapbooks are nice, they usually end up in a box somewhere, never to be looked at again.

But now....now I have a house.  Now I have walls and tables that need to be decorated.  And probably much to my husband's chagrin, the arts & crafter in me lives on.  Don't worry, I won't start knitting sweaters for the lamps or anything like that.  But I did feel that old spark of creative glee when I decided to put together this vintage family photo display a few months ago:

You see, when you work as a secretary the most creative thing that you do all day is locate an address on a Google map.  Sometimes you get to put the word "DRAFT" onto a Word document in block letters.  So you often forget what it feels like to actually enjoy doing something.  Sometimes I get that feeling after I write something that I think is good (so, like, once every four years).  Or sometimes I get it when I'm playing the piano (once every ten years, usually at Christmas).  And I definitely used to get it when wandering the aisles of the craft store.  It's a great feeling - like you just drank four cups of coffee, only you don't have to pee.

And so, long story short, I recently started searching Pinterest for Fall craft ideas (although some would advise against it).   You could spend your entire lifetime just clicking through Martha Stewart projects.  Then, after you die, you would need to have your head cryogenically frozen and re-attached to a robot with pinking shears for hands in order to complete them all.  Anyway, I love this staircase silhouette, though it's way too creepy to have in my own house:

http://www.marthastewart.com/266748/staircase-silhouette-halloween-decoratio

Since I don't want to traumatize my three year old the next time he heads upstairs for a bath, I will instead start with these cute Fall frames from A Diamond in the Stuff:

I will let you know how it turns out.  And if I do start knitting sweaters for the lamps, you can catch me on the next episode of Divorce Court. 

Sevvy Hounds

Ah, if only that could explain away all the annoying behavior going on at my office, I would feel a lot better about the human race.  If I could be certain that guy was only microwaving haddock filets for the purpose of obtaining sevvy, well then, I take back everything I said about him deserving to be run through by a swordfish.  Perhaps him, and the woman who pees all over the seat in the ladies room, just have more guts than I do.  Maybe six months from now they'll be home collecting their sevvy, having the last laugh, while I'm stuck here in this non-fish smelling, urine-free, hell-hole. 

Maybe.  

If you want to check out some folks who are doing this kind of thing for real (and by "for real" I mean "in a fictional internet mini series") check out Sevvy Hounds - a comedy web series about using company layoffs to your advantage. Because for some people, getting laid off is the only chance they have of getting out of the corporate world that they've grown to hate.  For some people, "your job is safe" is the last thing that they want to hear.

Watch Episode 1 below, and the rest of them here on Sevvy Hounds' YouTube channel.

They've even added a bonus epilogue episode to top off Season 1.  So if you find that you've finished all the episodes and it's still only 3:30 p.m., no need to worry. 

Listen up, Christian Grey...

...and all you women who are head over heels in love with this jerk. If they have to print up pamphlets describing the so-called man of your dreams and place them in public restrooms with telephone numbers and tips for escape on the back...THERE IS SOMETHING SERIOUSLY WRONG.

Sir Topham Hat Would Be Cross

I have some serious gripes with this Thomas & Friends "Right on Track!" bullshit magnetic board and drawing book published by those assholes over at Phidal Publishing, Inc.  Let's take a look:

Here is the product description:

Hey, that sounds like fun! 

And here is the sample from the back cover:

Look at those detailed drawing instructions.  Look at all of those intricate lines.  Look at all those different colors. There are four precise steps to follow.  There's even a facial expression on Thomas.  Now take a look at this close-up of the picture that some six year old Picasso apparently drew:

You're telling me, Phidal Publishing, Inc., that someone drew this ON A FUCKING MAGNETIC BOARD?  Those skinny little pencil lines? That perfect number "1"?  Those wheels and axles and that little pipe attached to Thomas's ass.  All of that shit was drawn using magnetic particles and A PEN THAT LOOKS LIKE THIS:

Jesus Christ, Phidal Publishing.  How do you think I feel when my two year old asks me to draw him that same picture of Thomas and it comes out LOOKING LIKE THIS:

NOT GOOD you false-advertising sons of bitches.  Not.  Good.  

Quote of the Day

"Been working a lot.  It's in a laundromat, it's totally corporate.  It's like rigid, all kinds of red tape, my boss is a dick, the owner, super dick, don't know if we're ever going to meet him, everybody's scared of the dude. Place is full of dead-eyed douchebags, the hours suck, and nobody knows what's going on."

 - Jesse Pinkman, Breaking Bad

I think he speaks for all of us. 

The worst book that ever was and ever will be: A review of Fifty Shades of Grey

I can no longer live in a reality where Fifty Shades of Grey is considered, by some, the greatest romance novel they have ever read.  I can't even live in a reality where a few people say it was an okay book.

Goodbye cruel world. 

I never expected it to be this terrible.  I never even thought it possible for a book this terrible to get published.  But here it is, so we may as well warm up with a few quotes:

"I'll agree to the fisting, but I'd really like to claim your ass, Anastasia."

"Anticipation runs bubbling like soda through my veins."

"And he hits me again and again.  From somewhere deep inside, I want to beg him to stop. but I don't.  I don't want to give him the satisfaction. He continues the unrelenting rhythm. I cry out six more times. Eighteen slaps in total. My body is singing, singing from his merciless assault." 

(Then, after a round of violent sex, comes this quote):

"Well done, baby," he whispers, quiet joy in his voice. His words curl  around me like a soft fluffy towel from the Heathman Hotel, and I'm so pleased that he's happy.

(Ugh, please).

"My scalp prickles at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he might like me.  After all, he did say he was glad Kate didn’t do the interview. I hug myself with quiet glee, rocking from side to side, entertaining the possibility that he might like me for one brief moment."

(How could he possibly like you, Ana?  You have BROWN hair).

"Grey smiles a dazzling, unguarded, natural, all-teeth-showing, glorious smile."             

 "Two orgasms...coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow."

 (Ms. James has taken a line used by sexually frustrated neighbors on 80's sitcoms, referring to how they pleasure themselves by sitting on the washing machine during spin cycle, and then used it totally wrong). 

"He’s my very own Christian Grey flavor popsicle."

 (Get it?)

Followed by:

 "My mouth pops open as I gasp and swallow at the same time."

 (Tricky).

           

I think you get the point.  Now let me delve a little further into why the writing made  me want to vomit all over the inside of Charlie Tango (Christian Grey's lamely named helicopter):

Extreme overuse of certain phrases:  Oh my, I blush, I flush, holy hell, holy crap, holy cow, holy f*ck, crap, double crap, crapola, my breath hitches, his breath hitches, his eyes were hooded, and endless references to "down there."  Down where? Oh, down there.  Cue the sound of a creaky old door opening and bats flying out.  But seriously, one of these phrases shows up on every single page.

EL James has no idea that there's a difference between a subconscious and a conscience.  Ana is constantly fighting with her "subconscious," who is some sort of mix between a prudish librarian and a Ricki Lake audience member ("You a ho!").   She's that little voice that is always telling Ana what she's doing is wrong.  You know, YOUR CONSCIENCE.  You subconscious is just what it sounds like - below consciousness.  You don't know it's there, and you definitely don't converse with it - unless maybe your name is Sybil.

EL James likes to use words that nobody has ever heard of.  In the middle of Ana using words like "crapola," we'll suddenly see the word "avuncular" or "mercurial."  Huh? Avuncular?  Look lady, nobody knows what that word means, especially not your half-wit of a heroine.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse Ana starts referring to Christian as "my Fifty Shades."  OMFG THAT'S THE NAME OF THE BOOK!! LOLOLOLOLOL!  Which is only one of many overused cutesy nicknames and phrases such as "the mean machine" instead of "laptop," and the literary abomination that is "Laters baby."

Now let's take a look at why Anastasia Steele sucks:

1.  She never stops having orgasms.  She loses her virginity to Christian in a horribly unromantic and violent way, but there she is having not just orgasms, but earth-shattering, mind blowing multiple orgasms where she is just out of her mind, shattered to smithereens, swirling and writhing, head spinning around on her shoulders with steam coming out of her ears, deaf, dumb, and blinded with sheer ecstasy.  Then her inner goddess gives her a high five and wraps a pair of pantyhose around her neck.   AND THAT WAS AFTER HER FIRST TIME.  The next day she wakes up a little sore, but gladly lets Christian pound her again.

2.  She becomes mentally retarded the second Mister sculptured lips hangy-pants so much as hands her the remote control.  At one point she actually asks, in all seriousness, if it's "legal to look that good?"  She loses all ability to speak, think, walk, and use her medulla oblongata (don't look at me, Ana mentions it several times).

I think that most of this relates to the fact that she has zero self-esteem.  She thinks she's unattractive, klutzy, and worst of all - she's a brunette!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOO!! Everyone knows brunettes are hideous! No man will ever love you Ana!  Face the facts!  Just oil up that butt plug and get on with it already.  CHRISTIAN GREY IS YOUR ONLY OPTION YOU HIDEOUS BROWN-HAIRED MONSTER!

3.  She doesn't care that Christian is a controlling, abusive, mind-f*ck, because he's just so darn hot.  Her self esteem is so low that she literally says she would do anything to be with him.  "Anything" includes allowing herself to be whipped, spanked, and stalked across the country, even though he scares the hell out of her.  She says that she's in love with this man who she can't even make a joke around without being terrified that he's going to get angry and spank her. 

All of these things, and more, made Ana a weak, pathetic, joke of a character.

Why Christian Grey sucks:

I don't care how huge his d*ck is, or how much money he has, the man has absolutely nothing to offer. Between his lack of personality, his lack of a sense of humor, and his general desire to beat women into submission as some sick form of "caring" for them, he is nothing but a disgusting self-centered pig. Oh he was abused as a child? He didn't get enough love? Fine, that's a perfectly reasonable explanation  for him turning out the way he did, but it's no excuse for what he's doing to Ana.  If two adults are both into that lifestyle and the woman is begging you to beat her with a riding crop, then okay fine.  Maybe that's how real BDSM relationships work, I don't know. What I do know is that's not the case with this book. Christian Grey is a manipulator, who takes a girl with no experience, no self-esteem, and no mind of her own, and convinces her to do things she's not comfortable with in order to "please him."  He wants to hurt her. He's stated it several times.  And Ana, the moron, does all this shit on the off chance that in return he'll decide to be a normal boyfriend who takes her out to dinners and movies.

And to top it all off, Ana is just giddy with joy over the idea that someone like him could actually like her. The idea that a man who is controlling, threatening, physically violent, and doesn't allow you the time or space to have your own life and thoughts, is actually romantic, is a seriously disturbing trend.  

And so I conclude, so I may get on with my life...

As a self-published author myself, I am not sure I would want to make my millions off of a book like this.  I'm not the type to sucker people out of their money and then laugh all the way to the bank.  Oh I would still go to the bank, for sure.  Most of us dream of being rich.  But I would go to the bank with my head down. I would go to the bank with a promise in my mind to one day make up for perpetuating this twisted and dangerous version of love. I'd send a damn lot of my money to charity.

That would almost be fifty shades of decent. But I won't hold my breath. 

Nation’s Moms Glad You Have Nice Office Job

According to a study released by the United States Department of Labor, and longtime confidante and neighbor, Barbara Heffernan, the nation’s moms are just so glad that you found yourself a nice office job.

Over 85 million moms were very concerned that you might end up like your cousin, Ben Foster, who is too busy working as a famous Hollywood actor to call home very often. It’s not as if they’re asking to hear his life story. But would it be a crime to call and say hello and maybe ask about his father?

While the souls of the nation’s children are being slowly crushed by tedium and poorly ventilated office space, the nation’s moms have had a huge weight lifted from their shoulders.

“This is Marvin,” gushed local mom of thirty-six years, Donna Porcello, energetically passing a photo around 9:00 a.m. Zumba class. “He’s an accountant. It’s wonderful, just wonderful. He writes me on the email at least twice a day.”

 

The nation’s moms don’t want to tell you this, but they breathed a huge collective sigh of relief when you decided that you would just stay here, rather than leave and have to hear them complain about it for the rest of your life.

“Sure, we had a bit of a scare during David’s last year of college,” nodded Joan Nash, 65, from her place in line at J.C. Penney. “He mentioned something about using his Archaeology degree to go on this ridiculous “dig” of ancient Rome. Thank God my friend Mary was able to pull some strings and get him that position at the state offices.”

When asked if sacrificing the opportunity of a lifetime for a 10 x 12 foot office and thirty minutes for lunch, local son, David Nash, refused to comment.

“Oh please,” added Joan. “He probably would have strained himself with one of those shovels.”

While the nation’s children may argue that “that’s not the point,” the nation’s moms remain adamant that choosing a nice office job, with excellent benefits and a thirty-two minute commute, really makes the most sense at this time in your life.  Especially if you're planning to start a family soon.

“We just want you to be happy, safe, and nowhere near icy roads, criminals, or airplanes,” said spokeswoman for all mothers, Nancy Hunt. “I mean, unless you decided to become a doctor like we originally asked you to, an office job is everything a mother could have hoped for.”

Gotta love a brand name that basically says "Yeah, you know, they sell our stuff at Marshall's. There might be a hole in this. Whatever."

Employees Walled In

Don't childproof your house...cage your children!

There are a lot of people in the world who should probably lose their jobs. One of them is the guy at Wendy's who would read my order back wrong every single time because he thought it was funny. Another is whichever marketing genius came up with this ad for the North States Superyard (a product intended for “young toddlers or small pets”):

One might surmise that this child (who we can all agree is neither a young toddler nor small pet), was put in there to keep him safe from the roaring fireplace. Well, dear marketing executives, even my two year old gets the concept of "fire hot" and manages to stay away on his own. It is more likely that he was confined to this 15 square foot hexagonal hell because his mother is a raging psychopath. The main piece of evidence from which I drew that conclusion is that she's wearing a button up shirt just to hang around the house. The second piece of evidence is that the house is immaculate and the only evidence that a child lives there is a wagon and a book entitled "Christmas” (and oh what a sad, sad, Christmas it’s going to be).

Here's an idea - lose the antique urn and get the kid some Matchbox cars. That wagon isn’t cutting it. Sure he might like to wheel it around to kill time until he turns eighteen, or better yet, use it as a way to climb out, set fire to that bouquet of dried peonies, torch the place, and escape into the night. But until he plans all that out, it’s really going to suck taking one step and banging into a wall over and over again.

So listen up North States: if you find yourself in need of a consultant who knows the appropriate age range for a kiddie corral, give me a call.

Or, if you're just looking for a new secretary, I type 80 wpm.

Worst Personalized Gift Suggestion Ever?

You Guys Are Gonna Miss Me Until The Temp Shows Up

Man, oh man. You guys don’t know how good you have it right now. Maybe you haven’t thought about this, but someday, maybe soon, I won’t be working here anymore. Someday I’m going to move on to bigger and better things, and suddenly everything is going to blow up in your face. That’s right. The phone that I’m always answering? Someday it’s going to be ringing off the hook and you’ll say to yourself “Crap! Who’s going to answer that before the temp gets here in twenty minutes?” And the answer to that question will be, “One of the other secretaries that still works here.”

It is at that moment that you’ll realize how truly screwed you are until the temp is able to find a parking space downstairs. 

 
I’ve worked for this company for almost ten years. I’ve built up trust and confidence with our clients, and I’ve learned all of the ins and outs of this company. I know where you get your haircut and how you like your turkey sandwiches. Experience like mine should not be taken for granted. So until a girl who looks exactly like me from the back figures out where the elevator is, the shit is going to hit the fan. I’m just letting you know. 

 
I probably shouldn’t even mention all the filing that’s going to pile up without me around. I mean, who do you think is going to painstakingly file away each document in the next few minutes before the temp figures out if she should turn left or right at the end of the corridor? I think you know the answer.

I almost feel sorry for you people. Helpless. Incompetent. Unable to manage the simplest administrative tasks until Randstad types a few keywords into their database and finds a recent college grad to send over for ten bucks an hour. But hey, that’s life. Most of us never realize what we have until the temp gets stuck in traffic on I-495. 

 
So let’s use this as a learning opportunity. Toss a “thank you” my way once in a while. Don’t skip Administrative Professionals Day. And in return, maybe I’ll stick around for another ten years.

Because I think I’d really miss you guys until a way better job showed up.

Happy Valentine's Day

From my office cleaning lady to yours:

Corporate Jargon Conversation Hearts

Dear Necco,

Picture this.  It’s February 14, 2013.  You’re in a conference room filled with high powered executives. A man, late forties, is concluding his Powerpoint presentation.  He’s been in the advertising industry for twenty years, but it never gets any easier.  Winning this account would be everything.  It would mean that trip to Ireland he and his wife have been dreaming about.  It would be the highlight of his career.

He glances at the executives seated around the table - and at one in particular.  A woman, mid fifties, is scribbling on a pad of legal paper. The decision is hers, but she remains stone-faced.  After what seems an eternity, she looks up and reaches into a small bowl that has been sitting unnoticed on the conference room table.  With a wry smile she tosses the man a Sweethearts Conversation Heart candy. Relief and joy wash over him as he catches it with sweating palms and reads the simple phrase:

And so, I present to you - Corporate Jargon Conversation Hearts. Certain to delight both the executive in your life, and the people in your life who can’t stand executives.

Should this new line of candy make you millions of dollars, I only ask that you give me some of it.  I don’t need any of the candies, as I think they’re kind of gross.

Sincerely,
Secretary4Life

Be My Low-Hanging Fruit

Let’s Circle Back

You’re On My Plate

We’ve Come Full Circle

Can I Bend Your Ear? 

On My Radar

We’re A Win-Win

Gojo!

Did they use pink soap to write the note too?  

IT Guy Asked to Put Together Bookcase

IT professional of eleven years, Chuck Brennan, 44, was in the middle of a complex firewall installation on Thursday, when asked if he wouldn’t mind putting together the new bookcase that just came in, when he gets a chance.

Brennan, who has neither the experience nor the desire to perform the degrading manual labor often asked of him, is unsure where exactly in his job description it says that he’s the office fucking handyman.

“I have a Master’s Degree in Information Technology” stated Brennan, gesturing toward the multitude of framed certificates displayed on his cubicle walls.  “But because I’m over forty, wear jeans to work, and made the mistake of mentioning a fleeting interest in Big Buck Hunter, people suddenly think I want to help them clear out the storage room.”

The bookcase, which Brennan barely even knows how to get out of the God damned box, requires the use of a wrench - a tool that everybody assumes he has because “he’s got all sorts of plugs and stuff over there.”

“A wrench, yeah I’ve got a wrench,” said Brennan, setting aside the fate of company security so that office manager, Shannon Cresley, will have somewhere to stick her binders.  “I had to buy a wrench last month when they assumed I knew how to fix a pipe in the break room sink.”

“Thank God for eHow,” he added.

In addition to maintaining network servers, performing daily backups of critical company files, and training the entire worthless organization on the use of Microsoft Office 2010, Brennan has also been able to add “vacuuming up rodent droppings” and “figuring out why it’s fifty degrees on this side of the office, but hot as hell on the other side” to his resume.

“It’s cool though,” said Brennan, hammering the last nail into the company’s new bookcase/proverbial coffin.  “Come Monday, when my latest Trojan is running buck wild through their wide open network like a pack of rabid hyenas, we’ll just see who has the time to assemble furniture.”

“Or, you know, go to lunch.”

The Broship of The Ring

This cracked me up....it's a modern day interpretation of Lord of the Rings by Noelle Stevenson, an illustration major at Maryland Institute College of Art:

The hobbits are hipsters, the Nazgul are on bikes, and here is Saruman tweeting to Sauron on his laptop:

I love what you can find on a random Google search. 

Company Welcomes First Jargon of the New Year

January 3, 2012 - At precisely 9:37 a.m., amidst whispered words of encouragement from conference call participants, the first corporate jargon of the new year was quietly welcomed into the world by Boartman Consulting Project Manager, Peter Holloway, 36.

“Look,” said Holloway, speaking to Director of Marketing for Taco Bell’s Northeast Division, Ryan Berkley. “I’m not sure if an Asian fusion breakfast Chalupa is going to be in your best interest at this time of year. But, you know, we’ll run it up the flagpole.”

As soon as the adorable bundle of brainless mumbo jumbo made its way into the world, Holloway slumped back in his chair - clearly exhausted - while secretary, Amber Goldstein, wiped the sweat from his brow.

“I’m just so, so, lucky to have been able to share in this today,” said Amber, her eyes growing damp with thoughts of the overused miracle she just witnessed. “I know these sayings happen every day, sometimes up to three times in one sentence, but there is just something special about the first one of the new year.”

This was a joyous event for employees of Boartman Consulting, as the first hackneyed gibberish of 2011 did not appear until January 5th, after complications arose and an emergency team meeting needed to be held.

“It was pretty touch and go back in ‘11,” said last year’s proud Account Manager, Todd Berger, 47. “I was a few days overdue and I thought maybe I just didn’t have the strength to bring a new stale colloquialism into the world. But with lots of meaningless PowerPoint slides, several cups of coffee, and two lines of coke in the men’s room, ‘fail to plan and plan to fail’ made its way into the world at a healthy seven syllables.”

As the proud spurter of this year’s New Year’s jargon, Holloway will receive an extra shitload of work, plus a minimum of six abusive status update telephone calls from the client.

“Nobody said it would be easy,” said Holloway, reclining in his leather desk chair and sucking on ice chips. “But it’s the only way to ensure that our race of uninspired, insipid, drivel continues for generations to come. If we didn’t do it, the world might be left with nothing but original thoughts and ideas.”

As employees excitedly pressed their faces up to the glass door of Holloway’s office, taking photos and waving teddy bears, Goldstein gently closed the blinds in order to allow her boss some much needed rest.

“Beautiful, simply beautiful,” said receptionist, Marge Anderson, 64, reluctantly returning to her desk. “What better time to recycle the same old bullshit phrases you’ve been using for the past three decades, than at the start of a brand new year?”

TP

I find little in this world more frustrating and humbling than trying to detach the end of a roll of commercial toilet paper. One is left weeping and pantless beside a pile of one ply shards.

Business!

Happy Birthday J.R.R. Tolkien

"It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end… because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing… this shadow. Even darkness must pass." - LoTR

There was a dark time in my life when I didn't even know what a hobbit was. And I had never heard of a Bilbo. Thank goodness that shadow has passed.