Archive for the 'work' Category

I don’t really get letters

I get letters:

Dear ACW,
Recently, your blog has less content than a fortune cookie. WTF?
A Devoted Yet Critical Reader

Dear Mr. Coworker,
Will you please blog about necrophilia some more? I grow weary of hearing about the living.
Jerry “The Mausoleum Molester” Michaels

Dear Anonymouscoworker,
When are you going to come meet your new baby?
JWER’s mom

What can I say? I haven’t really had anything to write about. I mean, some fur-coated wantwit in a Mercedes cut me off this morning on the on ramp to the highway, and then slowed to well below the speed limit making our upcoming merge into highway traffic nigh impossible, until suddenly traffic cleared and she merged across three lanes into the fast lane where she continued to drive 30 miles below the speed limit while I drove past in the right lane, happy to have her idiocy behind me. But I can’t even get up the proper level of rage to do that justice. I’m really just the picture of apathy.

Worse still, I’ll be out of the office from this coming Sunday until the Tuesday or Wednesday the week after that, and when I’m out of the office little to no blogging occurs. Maybe it’ll recharge the batteries. I don’t know.

Ugh, now I sound all maudlin and whiny. Let’s see, how to remedy maudlin and whiny?

Um… penis?

Every year, without fail

If I have a voicemail message at work that says, “Hi, I’ll be out of the office until January 2nd, and will not be returning any phone calls until January 2nd. If you leave a message, I will get back to you when I return to the office on January 2nd.” why would you leave a message saying, “Hi, I need to talk to you about something. I’m in the office today, December 27, and tomorrow, December 28. Give me a call when you get a chance. Thanks.”?

Every year I get closer to picking up the phone, calling those people back, and screaming, “This year you should resolve to learn how to USE A FUCKING CALENDAR.”

It’s three more things, but that third one is kind of weak

1) I woke up this morning to a cacophony of noise. I’ll wait while you go look that up.

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your innovations
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else…

Oh, you’re back. Didn’t see you there. Anyway, when I woke up there was a helicopter hovering overhead; the apartment complex next door had the landscaping people out to mow the non-existent grass; my Roomba, Roombie, was vacuuming and caroming around the house; and Sherlock and Wookie were tear-assing around the house in a game I like to call, “I will punch you each in the goddamned cat-colon if you don’t settle the fuck down.”

The irony is, this is the first day of my winter vacation*, and my first chance to sleep in has already been ruined. I forsee cats chained to litter boxes in the near future.

2) A conversation recently had by my brothers and I about our new extended-family email list; a list created exclusively for news, planning, and information, and not idiotic email forwards. My uncle is the offender I’m referring to in this case.

Me: So which one of you guys is going to lay the smacketh down for this? I know you’re thinking, “Oh, it’s Christmas, it’ll be fine.” And I’m thinking the same thing. But by March our inboxes will be overflowing
with urban legends about email causing cancer, animated jpegs of the baby Jesus, and every other unfunny piece of nonsense that clogs up the ‘tubes.

Desk Job: [sends regulating email to entire family]

Desk Job: [to me and Mokie] Hope the whole family doesn’t hate me now.

Me: I think you’re fine. You did a pretty good job of putting it diplomatically. Plus, if they give you any trouble you can just shove (your two and a half week old son)** in their face and they’ll settle down.

Mokie: Alternatively, if you need to get some distance, just throw him like a football. I bet that little guy makes a pretty good spiral.

Me: Mokie! That is uncalled for! He is a baby. Do you have any sense? You don’t throw babies. You punt them.

Desk Job: You’re both a bunch of jerks. If you punt a baby he’ll get hurt. If you throw a baby, someone will probably catch him, and the spiral of baby vomit will hit lots of bystandards.

Mokie: I really hope your spelling of “bystandards” was an intentional mashing-together of “bystander” and “retard.” I nominate it for word of the year.

Desk Job: Uh, yeah, that’s it. Shut up.

3) Wookie just jumped in my lap and put her butt in my face, and it smelled like kibbles. Not like butt. Not like butt and kibbles. Just kibbles. Somehow, that was more horrifying.

*As such, blogging will be light from now to January 2, but I’ll be sure to pop in from time to time. If you had an RSS reader, this wouldn’t be such a big deal.

**Yeah, my older brother be-nephewed me a few weeks ago. No, I don’t tell you everything because it’s not necessarily any of your goddamned business.

The secret ingredient is love. (Love = 12 grams of fat per serving)

Every year for work I make cookies for people. It’s a cheap and easy way of saying, “I recognize my societal requirement to give you a gift at this time of year, but I don’t like you enough to get you anything different than I got for the other twenty people in this office, and I also don’t care about you enough to pay more than a few cents for a gift, so here is a plastic bag with some cookies in it.” The best part is that people go wild over these fucking cookies. I give them cookies and they’re like, “Cookies? COOKIES!!!!” It’s bizarre.

Part of this might be due to a small misconception fostered by me at some point a few years ago when I originally distributed these cookies. Someone was eating the cookies while most of the office was sitting around chatting and that person said, “I know you like to be healthy, are these cookies low fat?” And I laughed a little and said, “Oh, yeah. They’re totally fat free.” which is probably one of the worst lies I’ve ever told because the cookies have visible chocolates chips in them and an extremely buttery flavor. Then I realized they were being serious, and I’ve never taken the opportunity to correct their misunderstanding.

These cookies are made with butter flavored Crisco. Pure lard. Fat. These cookies are made with fat. They’re not even as healthy as cookies made with huge globs of fresh creamery butter. Any idiot can look at these cookies and see that they are crammed with fat. By touching these cookies it becomes clear that the primary ingredient is artery-clogging deliciousness. One bite of these cookies and your guts go, “Holy shit, these cookies are fattier than a baby pool full of bacon grease.” And yet people continue to praise the deliciousness of my fat free cookies. They keep asking for the recipe, but I refuse to tell them under the guise of it being a secret family recipe. A secret family recipe that you can find on the side of the Crisco container. I’m thinking maybe I should sell these cookies and call them, “Cookies for people who want to eat cookies and think they’re eating healthy because they’re too stupid to realize that cookies are never good for you and should probably be consumed in moderation rather than strapped to your face like a holiday feedbag.” The printing costs would be killer though.

People continue to think they’re fat free, and I’m not going to say anything about it, so they can indulge without feeling guilty, and I only make enough cookies for everybody to get 7 or 8 so it’s not exactly like I’m spooning Crisco directly into their faces. Though I would if I could convince them it was fat free.

To do list

1) Sleep in

2) Don’t go to work

3) Blog

4) Play video games

5) Hang out with Deanne (from the world-famous “internet”) in DC before she flies back to London.

6) More video games

7) Repeat 1-4 tomorrow.

8) Call you all bitches.

You are all bitches.

Interview Tip

If you show up for an interview wearing a belt with a pot-leaf belt buckle, you will not get the job.

Talk about pigs…

Though I didn’t see any pigs last night, there certainly were a few roaming the office today. Mrs. ACW gave out one singular piece of candy from the 3 pound bag of Snickers, Milky Way, and Three Musketeers that she purchased, so I grabbed the rest and brought it in to work because I sure as hell don’t want that shit lying around. One hour later it’s gone. All of it. Totally gone. Not a wrapper in sight. It’s a small office, only about 10 employees in today. And these are people with children, who no doubt rummaged through their candy last night and this morning, while also eating from what they were giving out.

Then they corner me in the kitchen and say, “You’re so skinny! How can I be skinny like you?”

Don’t eat three pounds of candy, dumbshits. Also, stop eating 3000 calories in one meal.

Cinemax has been reading my blog

Last week I mentioned my Wednesday night tradition. You didn’t click that link, did you? You bunch of lazy fuckers. I swear, if this were a restaurant you’d all be sitting around complaining about how I hadn’t chewed the food enough for you. “I have to click on a link and open a whole new page and then read a bunch of whole new words to find out the context of what’s going on? Really? Maybe I’ll just go back to MySpace where everyone is as dumb and as lazy as I am.” You twats.

Anyway, since none of you clicked on that link, here’s the important bit:

I have class on Wednesday nights, and since school is so much closer to Mokie’s house than it is to my house, and since Mrs. ACW’s class starts as soon as my class lets out, I usually head over to Mokie’s for dinner. That is, as long as there’s nothing good on TV. See, I get HBO and Cinemax, whereas Mokie gets nothing, so before I go over to his house I call to get him to check TV Guide to see what movies might be showing. Most of the time it’s crap like Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift (which I’ve now seen about 5 times), or something like Fried Green Steel Magnolias Under the Tuscan Runaway Bride, so I opt to have some dinner with my brother. But he knows that if something badass comes on, like Bloodsport, or Timecop, or Street Fighter, then I’ll have to go home and watch that instead of coming to dinner.

Did you catch that? Three Van Damme movies mentioned at the end. Three. Because he’s the ass-kickingest Frenchman you’ve ever had a homo-erotic sex-fantasy about, and last night, to my surprise, Cinemax was showing Universal Soldier: The Return. Again, I realize you’re lazier than a morbidly obese Matthew Sweet in a sedentary showdown with an old jar of mayonnaise, so you probably won’t click that link, so I’ll elucidate the important details here:

Universal Soldier: The Return was released to lobotomized audiences across the US in 1999, and though it didn’t win any prizes or acclaim, it WAS directed by Some Douchebag. Though I never saw any of the other Universal Soldier movies, I remained confident that I’d be able to keep up.

The tagline was, “Prepare to become obsolete” but it probably should have been, “Prepare to become stupider”.

Here’s a plot outline from IMDB: “Universal Soldier II [wtf? This is Universal Solider: The Return, or at least Universal Soldier IV. People are idiots. - ACW] continues the story of Luc Deveraux, who has survived his experiences as a Universal Soldier, recovered, and is now working as a technical expert on a government project to revive and improve the Universal Soldier training program. When S.E.T.H., the supercomputer controlling the Soldiers, goes haywire and takes over, Luc is the only one who can battle this elite team of deadly, near-perfect warriors.”

That really doesn’t give you the full flavor of the movie though. If I were to write a plot outline, it would go like this:

Boy meets girl. Boy runs away from genetically engineered super-army with girl… on jet skis. Boy fights former WCW wrestler Goldberg. AI computer tries to kill everyone and take over the world. Girl goes away for some reason. Boy meets another girl. Boy has to go to a nearby strip club to access the internet to hack the AI computer to find out who is also hacking the AI computer at the same time so he can stop the other hacker from continuing to hack. 30 minutes of tits. 5 minute overwrought high-school-drama-department monologue by AI computer after having his “portable brain matrix” implanted in a genetically engineered super-soldier. Boy goes back to fight genetically engineered super-army with girl. Guns and explosions and hand to hand combat. Bad pun. Bad pun. Explosion. Bad pun. Plot hole. Plot hole. Bad pun. Explosion. Plot hole. Bad pun. Plot hole. Explosion. Plot hole. Bad pun. Ironic bad-guy comeuppance. Explosion. The end.

I wasn’t really paying attention to the movie, and I kept switching back and forth between that mindless pap and Mythbusters, so I might have missed some extremely important plot points, but I’m pretty sure that the directorial debut of a stuntman with a script written by the douche who also wrote Darkness Falls doesn’t really require that you watch the whole movie. In fact, I’d be shocked if the 30 minute strip club scene didn’t come about because they were at a strip club trying to figure out what to put in the second act.

“Let’s see, the first act is our introduction to the Universal Soldiers, so there’s lots of fighting and explosions.”

“Yeah, and the third act is the final battle and everything that leads up to it, so there’s lots of fighting and explosions.”

“So what to do about the second act?”

They look around, then at each other, then say simultaneously:

“A bar brawl at a strip club!”

Then they high-fived each other and ordered a round of lap dances to celebrate.

The only ornithological reference to Star Wars you’ll read today

Man, work has been bitch-ass busy, or if you want to get scientific about it, it’s been two metric cubits of business on the Bitch-ass/Depardieu Continuum. Yesterday, it was literally one thing after another. I had a customer waiting for me in the lobby when my boss busted in and started jabbering away and the phone started ringing as I was responding to an urgent email from another client. It’s moments like those when I want to kick my computer off my desk Office Space-style and walk out the goddamned door. (Why are there a million recreations of the printer scene on You Tube? Getting a fucking life people, Jesus. Your mom is tired of scrubbing Cheetos stains out of your tighty-whities.)

It just got so fucking bonkers that I left to take a walk and after getting about a hundred feet from the office I heard this ridiculous noise coming from the sky above me. There was a hawk circling slowly over a small wooded area and two crows were making all the racket while dive-bombing the hawk. One crow would fly just out of the hawk’s reach while the other crow would fly up into the air a bit higher before turning back on the hawk and plunging towards it as fast as it could go. The hawk would bank away from the diving crow and the two crows would regroup and trade rolls before recreating the whole event.

I walked and watched them do this for about 5 minutes when another hawk appeared in the distance and looked like he was about to flank the crows. Somehow the crows sensed what was happening and it broke into a full-on dogfight. Both crows and both hawks swooped and dove and attempted to drive the other species out the local airspace. Eventually the crows forced the hawks apart and divided they were no match for the crows. The crows had better maneuverability and the hawks just couldn’t compete. It was like watching TIE fighters take on a Calamari Cruiser, they couldn’t beat it, but they could fly circles around it.

In the end the hawks were forced off, and the crows flew back to the small wooded area. It was pretty badass, and I was ready to go back into work.

What the hell? UPDATED

Okay, two quick things:

If someone says, “Have a nice day” to you, do you say:

a) Thanks.
b) You too.
c) a combination of a and b
d) something similar in reply

Or do you give the crazy-ass socially retarded answer I just got, which is, “I will.” Who the fuck says, “I will”? Like, now that I’ve told you to have a nice day you’ve reconsidered having a terrible day and decided against it in favor of a good day? Or are you spitefully throwing in my face that you already decided to have a good day and you just feel it necessary to reinforce your point? What the hell?

Second thing. I just introduced myself to someone and said, “Hey, nice to meet you, I’m ACW.” They responded, “I’m Mrs. Lastname.” Who the fuck does that? Who has such an enormous redwood of a log up their ass that they can’t introduce themselves by their first name? Or do you think they’re just so in love with patriarchy that they can’t think of themselves as anything other than someone’s property? I mean, the only case in which I can see this as being appropriate is if you’re 4 years old and you’re introducing yourself to a teacher. Otherwise, don’t be a douchebag and play the power game with names. It’s stupid, and it makes you more annoying than a burlap sack full of sweaty cocks.

Also, can you believe that this was two different people? When did the world become so fucking awkward?

UPDATE: This is relevant to the discussion in comments, it’s just stand-up, but some douchebag thought it would be funnier with anime characters or some such nonsense. Is it any surprise the first decision I make when I meet someone is, “Will I eventually have to kill you because of your idiocy?” Right now if you’re wondering, “Is he talking about me?” then yes, I am talking about you. Anyway, on to the comedy-




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