In the grand scheme of things, a trifle,
but don't make me reach for my rifle --
"That's what you call the dead?
Please see a doctor for your afflicted head --"
You know damn well that's not what I meant;
neither of us can check what's heaven sent.
Funnels, cakes of ice are surely frightening,
but when one is struck by lightening,
'tis not an electrified action
but merely a step towards Michael Jackson.
Thus, I beg, AP, hire some competence
and end this flood of disturbing malfeasance.
"That was horrible."
Truly, but not as offensive as finding irrefutable evidence of a creature once thought to be a figment of a whiskey-and-weed sodden imagination: the Track-Suited Elder!
"I'm seventy years young, punk!"
A coworker was regaling me this morning with tales of these inhuman monsters and their faux testosterone-fueled lifestyle, a midlife crisis that keeps on eating and regurgitating itself far beyond impulse sports car purchasing and judicious applications of Just For Men, settling at last in Golden Buckeye Card perpetuity.
Lo, believed her I did not, but soon that pound of doubt was smashed into a tasteless pancake when such a creature managed to create an obscene amount of jamming in our hydraulic Raw Power Stapler® that even a six year-old can operate without too much effort, but MAXIMUM ZONE BUSTING AND PUSHING THE ENVELOPE IS WHAT I LIVE FOR BLEAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH! FLEX FLEX FLEX I READ FIFTY-SEVEN PERIODICALS AT ONCE GET OFF MY LAWN
So, with the timely aide of a hammer, I was able to unjam about 17 staples from the chamber. Je vous remercie, unholy combination of Chuck Norris, Jack Lalane and Matlock, you are a douchebag.
"Look what you did to my stapler when you pushed too hard on my stapler and you jammed it because it's not a Swingline it's my stapler look what you did to it my stapler."
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Tornado of douchebaggery
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14 comments:
You got me excited for nothing when I read "funnel" and "cake" together, and it had nothing to do with carnival food.
The only thing uglier than a track-suited elder in a mid-life crisis is a middle aged guy in his fifties dating a woman in her early twenties. Some things just violate nature.
Mr. Lumbergh told me to talk to payroll and then payroll told me to talk to Mr. Lumbergh and I still haven't received my paycheck and he took my stapler and he never brought it back and then they moved my desk to storage room B and there was garbage on it...
We should've seen that coming when he first came in and was beating that xerox machine into submission.
Awesome.
übermilf, but what is life if not a carnival?
BB, I was about to agree with you and offer a list of why, but then I realized that would only be looking at things from a practical, instead of a Hooters, standpoint, thus earning scorn from said fifty-year old dude.
susan, yeah. I'm gonna need you to move your office in the basement.
thatgirl, at least there wasn't a repeat of the Flaming Microfilm Reader though, to his credit, he tried.
Be careful with those things. They can put your eye out.
Uh oh, keep an eye on that strange dude in the bottom photo. I think he's about to blow up the building.
Sssshhh, RG. We're supposed to be living lives of quiet desperation. Even when dealing with a jammed stapler we're supposed to exhibit grace under pressure.
Now, I'll admit, trying to open one of those horrible molded, super-tough, grossly oversized plastic blister packs, with the real possibility of deep lacerations and/or traumatic amputations ever present, is grounds for bellowing rage.
I think I saw this in a Fellini Movie... La Dolce Swingline perhaps.
you, like my husband, have watched that movie way too many times!
I'm sure that after he fucked up your stapler he went to Logistics and showed the new chick his "Oh" face.
I hereby sentence you to a term of no less than four years in a federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison. Randal, you've led a trite and meaningless life. And you're a very bad person.
You used a hammer to fix a stapler. You are pure genius. Perhaps we've found our new Secretary of Commerce? Well, if not, I hear there's a newly vacated copy editing/proofreader position at AP. I think you should go for one them. Clearly, you have skillz.
in my world, when important objects, tools, miscellaneous doo-dads, etc., jam (jamb?) up, i just THROW .. THEM .. AGAINST .. THE .. WALL.
now, that method may not entirely solve the problem. i may end up having to buy a new doo-dad (and needing to call in a guy with a cool "tool belt" to fix the wall), but i tend to feel a little bit better afterwards.
now that's not SUCH a bad thing, is it? just as long a humanoid does not get in the way as i fling said doo-dads at the wall.
dean, that's why I wear glasses. Though icicles remain a problem.
tom, normally I'd be fine with that, but give the state of the, er, state budget, I'd probably have to head immediately to unemployment.
SWA, you really think that's plastic and not some space age polymer developed in Los Alamos? You need a blowtorch or a chainsaw to open up certain packages these days.
dr. zaius, I was wondering what that jazzy background music was for.
liberality, one of the greatest films ever made!
bull, I think I'll go underground, grow a mullet, and work construction. Fuckin' A.
spartacus, thanks, a lot of those AP guys could use a hammer to their noggin. Not that I would ever advocate violence.
anita, as you're no doubt aware, these staplers are large and relatively heavy, so why would I ruin a perfectly good wall when I can throw them at the patron?
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