Worker #3116 will be out of the office from Wednesday, Dec. 24, to Monday, Jan. 5. If you need assistance with anything, please talk to the hand, because I am not listening to you.
THIS IS THE LAST CORPORATE CASUAL HEADLINE OF THE DAY FOR 2003!
AND THERE MIGHT NOT BE CCHODs IN 2004, BECAUSE I MIGHT BE DEAD!
I WANTED ONE THAT WAS EXPRESSIVE OF THE HOLIDAYS, AND I GOT IT MOTHERFUCKER!
“MAN SAYS HE GAVE WIFE TOILET SEAT AS GIFT”
(TAKEN FROM SALON.COM)
AWESOME. THAT’S IT, I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO ADD, IT IS ALREADY SO GREAT. I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT HOLIDAY, UNLESS YOU CELEBRATE KWANZAA, BECAUSE KWANZAA IS JUST STUPID.
Nothing says “Merry Christmas” quite like an inter-office memo reminding everyone that even though today we have the luxury of leaving at THREE p.m., it is still a workday, and should be used productively and effectively to meet the goals of the company’s mission statement.
Thanks cocks, your coal is in the mail.
Oh my god, I am so sorry about that fat joke I just made. It was really inappropriate, and I hope it didn’t hurt any fat people’s feelings. I know it’s hard enough just being superfat.
This is a question for all you morbidly obese people out there:
Which is worse, the terrible embarrassment over your physical appearance, or the interior wasteland of someone utterly unloved?
Just curious. Thanks.
Um, did you see this?
“Pataki Pardons Lenny Bruce Posthumously”
(taken from the New York Times)
Was it that slow of a news day in Albany or what?
I mean, if this isn’t just a pandering ploy to garner media attention, if it is an honest to God apology, then Mr. Pataki could at least have granted Mr. Bruce a “fucking” pardon, posthumously. Give the man the honors he deserves.
“‘I truly believe my father’s soul can rest in peace with this,’ Kitty Bruce said at the time.”
Are you sure, Kitty? Do you think that your father’s soul gives a shit? Honestly? Honestly? You are a liar, Kitty, and a whore.
This whole thing is just fucking depressing. No one in the whole article even uses the word cunt. Poor Lenny, you failed, you failed miserably, you fucking cunt.
It is pretty clear to me that everyone involved with livejournal is completely talentless, but I would like to tell you a story anyway and maybe you can empathize.
I was working at Victoria’s Secret Corporate Headquarters as a temp once, and my job was quite simple: call every single store in the United States and make sure that they had received their Christmas decorations. Their decorations were listed in a ten page, eight-point-font, legal-sized document listing specific light bulbs, bustiers, stars, glitter packages, wall mounts, etc. This took forever. Now, my desk is always very messy for the simple reason that I do not give a FUCK about what I am doing on any given day at any given job. I was working with another temp named Brooke Fox, a cross eyed albino who plays folk music (Brooke Fox is so HOTTTT!). Brooke Fox worked very hard and was meticulous and neat, and she made me look like a real shithead. So one day my supervisor came over and asked me why Brooke’s area was so clean and mine was so messy. “Because I’m an artist” I told her. This, to me, was hilarious. This, to her, was kinship. “Oh, me too!” she squealed (you know you’re a squealer, Crystal) and then “I’m an artist too, yeah, I’m totally a creative person.”
I am recounting all this because the absolute worst thing you can be in an office is the “creative guy”. Why? Because everyone wants to help you out by giving you “creative” jobs to do so that you can really “express yourself.” In the case of Crystal at Victoria’s Secret Corporate Headquarters, one morning she handed me two binders. One was labeled “Fiscal Reports 2000-2001″ and the other was labelled “Travel Receipts 2000-2001″. As she handed them over she gave me a wink. “I want you to make new labels for these for the 2001-2002 fiscal year. But these are just for me, so do whatever you want with the labels, really get creative.” I made them exactly the same. She honestly seemed heartbroken.
Now I have once again been pinpointed as the “creative guy” (I volunteered to write the holiday-themed poem for the staff-card to the head of the office, knowing full well that the worse it was the more they would like it). I am now responsible for highlighting the office in the upcoming edition of the hospital’s newsletter. I have been told that the writing is often very dry in this newsletter and that I should try and make it fun, just really get creative. Well, let me ask you this, are the words “cum-draining” and “titty-tastic” indicative of fun and creativity, because this February’s edition of the CommuniquÃ© is going to be full of them.
Everyone keeps speculating on whether or not Hillary Clinton will run for President in the 2008 election. Honestly people, a woman in the white house? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What are we supposed to do, shut down the country once a month while the Commandette in Chief is on the rag? GET REAL!! This is about as likely as the foreskin magically regrowing on my penis.
“Cat Rides 150 Miles in Car’s Engine, OK”
(taken from the New York Times)
OK? Do you mean Totally Awesome? “Cat Rides 150 Miles in Car’s Engine, Totally Awesome” makes more sense.
The cat’s name is Tracker. Apparently this trip cost him “a life or two”, either that or the reporter assigned to this story puts too much faith in old wives’ tales. According to officials who know about the feline capacities for engine travel, “he probably survived the 150-mile trip in the Chevrolet Tracker because the woman did not stop.” Right, you noticed that the article lists the cat’s name as Tracker and then refers to a Chevrolet Tracker. We will never know who rode whom. Um, also, why did he survive because she didn’t stop? Never mind, I guess there’s absolutely no reason to qualify this otherwise unsustained claim.
“‘It’s been a bigger year for kittens and cats particularly,’ Verduin said as she pointed to a sign on one of the shelter’s walls stating that one cat and its offspring can produce 420,000 cats in seven years.”
I think that the figure on this poster applies to cats in any SEVEN YEAR PERIOD, based on regressive statistical models, but according to this super genius (who also uses the Biologist’s term “intense kitty-crying” elsewhere in the article) it only goes further to prove her point that 2003 was the Year of the Cat!
Ugh, just forget it.
At long last, Justin Timberlake has sold his memoirs (to Doug Young at Transworld, way to go Doug), for publication in fall 2004.
I’ve always wanted to read about a white trash kid who just wouldn’t quit until he was the biggest star in the world! Way to go, JT! You’ve rocked my body, now I’m ready for you to rock my mind!