Fuming Over Office Cleanliness

The girl sitting beside me today has an entire collection of sanitizers, disinfectants, lotions, balms, medicated cleansers, skin conditioners, salves and scented ointments lined up on her desk. Christ O’Mighty, is she working as a ‘Customer Service Representative’ or an industrial-strength Dermatologist?

By the time she had finished scouring and sanitizing her work area and ritually sterilized her hands, the entire aisle smelled like an Estee’ Lauder showroom. With all the medicated fumes she released into the air around us, I think she just widened the hole in the earth’s Ozone layer by a few thousand miles. My eyes are stinging like a Proctor & Gamble laboratory test bunny!

Fuck, wouldn’t it just be more prudent and easier to simply douse your work desk with kerosene and light a match? THAT’LL sanitize any leftover lingering germs and bacteria for sure…and be much easier on my sensitive sinuses in the process!

Shit-Stirring

I wonder if anybody else experiences the same sick sense of accomplishment that I feel when I see the toilet that I’ve just used struggling in an effort to swallow up that mammoth-sized megaturd that I managed to leave behind me in the bowl, all in the first flush?

No? Just me?

There is some sense of manly achievement when I see that poor toilet gurgling helplessly as it tries to take my freshly pinched loaf down whole; the turd upright and swirling clockwise in the bowl like a Tootsie Roll caught in a Barbie Doll-sized ‘Dream Hot Tub’.

I would think that it was just an inherently masculine feeling to be required to make a courtesy flush a second time after you’ve finished raining down your shitstorm on that poor, ill-equipped porcelain toilet of your choosing.

“Yeah, that’s right. Take it all, bitch!”

Importance Level: Charbroiled

My request to transfer down to a day shift has been denied again.

This pre-generated draft memo that I was issued from the ‘Work Force Management’ in order to inform me that my request for a long term schedule change had in fact been denied also clearly stated: “Importance Level: Low”.

Low? LOW? The possible consideration for future improvement on my current inconvenient and insane work schedule is “Low”? Who you calling "LOW", motherfucker?

We’ll see how my “Importance Level” ranks when those in Work Force Management are staring down the business end of a fully-fueled military flame propelling unit hissing like an angry python.

I know who I want to see served at the next 'Employee Appreciation Barbeque' come springtime.

Swivel Chair Graveyard

I figured out why there are so many broken swivel chairs in the employees Cloak Room: the average ass size of the normal wage donkey that works at my particular place of employment must be equal to that of the entire bow end of the Titanic!

It’s like a swivel chair graveyard in there.

These puny office desk chairs don’t stand a fucking chance against some these enormous asses. Now I’m no ‘Slim Jim’ myself, don't get me wrong, but some of these wide loads at times make them seem like huge brontosauruses lumbering across the work floor. The front scoop of a John Deer backhoe would have a hard time supporting these masses!

How did they get this big exactly?

I know it’s a low-impact, sedentary position that they have been performing for all these years n’ all, but some of these people must have had entire baked hams being deposited into their bodies via an IV-drip right at their desks between their breaks or something!

Final Will of the Damned

When I die at my cubicle desk in a few years, probably still chained to a computer monitor by a telephone headset (my guess is by a stress-related Chernobyl-sized heart attack), it will be my journal that they inevitably would retrieve from under my lifeless corpse.

There I would be: laying face down over my work epitaph and reeking of tuna fish salad.

I can hear my female co-worker snapping her gum while giving her statement regarding my untimely demise to the responding EMS attendant (and with just a hint of flirtation, I might add):

“…he was there negotiating a ‘Promise to Pay’ and eating a jelly donut, when he just collapsed facedown in that smut he writes all day”.

If this were ever to be the case, I would like to note that this is to be regarded as my last final wish: that my personal computer keyboard be immediately used to bludgeon each and every co-worker and manager in a mass corporate suicide ritual so that they can be buried along with me in order to continue working alongside me in the afterlife.

Hear that? You’re ALL coming with me!

"Great gobs of cat cack, Batman!"

A State of National Emergency was narrowly avoided in my apartment last night as I happened to witness my cat experiencing the unfortunate circumstance of having to hack up his first fur ball onto my living room carpet.

Holy shit! Considering that I have never seen him engage in this apparently common feline instinct or found any such crusty Slinky’s of cat hair and spit laying around, that this was sure a fucking stressful ordeal to witness. Particularly, when you see your bestest buddy in the whole world writhing on the floor in front of you gasping and retching like an asthmatic python trying to work out a beer nut.

I was seconds away from dispatching Emergency Medical Response units to my door in order to have him airlifted directly to the nearest waiting Veterinarian, before he finally gave forth with a mighty gob of smooshy cat cack. Mmmmmm.

It looked like he was exorcizing demons from his body or something, not just simply trying to expunge built up follicle matter from his digestive tract.

“The power of Christ compels you! THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!”

Mental Note to Self

MENTAL NOTE TO SELF: egg salad and root beer makes for a deadly lunch combo.

When I returned to my desk I happened to launch what I thought was going to be a harmless one cheek sneak that would just slip by under the radar undetected. Instead, what was released into the immediate atmosphere around me was enough to make the poor unsuspecting girl working at her cubicle beside me choke like she had a gerbil lodged in her throat.

Oops.

One minute she was discussing Annual Percentage Rates and the next she was hacking like an old woman at a Bingo Hall.

Non-Names

I spoke on the phone today with someone named Tiara…isn’t that just fucking precious? What, were her parents creatively-stunted Royalty or did they just have high aspirations for their daughter to be a future Miss America beauty pageant contestant?

I have noticed that peoples names these days have been becoming increasing uncreative and unimaginative in that we are now beginning to simply recycle or reuse unpopular and forgotten English words already in existance that were once used to identify ordinary inanimate objects. I call these "Non-names".

I have also spoken to a Lactancia (wasn’t that a brand of margarine for fuck sakes?), and an Alberta (who had no knowledge of the Canadian province in which almost 3 million people live) today as well. Are we so quickly running out of original names and we are now forced to adopt old brand names of margarine to name our children?

Why not just name our children after the first thing we see when they are born. Just imagine a whole new plethora of possible cutesy children names as: Danish, Toaster, Marmalade, Mouse Pad, Lima Bean, Decaffinate, Aspertame, Fax, or Mayonnaise. They’re all about as equally creative and original as Tiara!

I can’t wait to hear the announcement from the stage at my future child’s High School graduation one day: “And graduating with Honors and a 4.9 Grade Point average, Pringles Nash. (Bet you can't pop just one!)”

Boy I’ll be so proud; along with her other siblings Twinkie, Swiffer, and Moon Pie Nash sitting beside me.

Cro-Magnum Car Audiophile

What is the corresponding relationship with people who own expensive high-performance audio equipment for their vehicles, and the fact that they will inevitably be using their kick-ass unit to blast completely shitty music?

Is there something encoded into their DNA makeup that governs that the more expensive and powerful their car stereo system is, the lesser caliber on inspired music it will be used to blast throughout the ‘Hood will be exponentially shittier?

I expect one day to find a true car audiophile with sloping forehead that has just evolved so that his new car sound system could rival that of any Who concert, yet the owner will just be able tp sit there in the front seat mindlessly like a zombie with warm drool dribbling over his chin as he pumps Brittany-fucking-Spears over his powerful woofer and tweeter speakers installed into the back seat like ancient monoliths rising out of the seat cushions.

Too bad he’s too brain dead to drive, or even operate the power windows in his automotive Boom Box…but that ‘Ace of Base’ sure sounds sweet, dumbass!