I really don’t understand the purposes of these forced oral rapes. Every four months we gather in a huge room, while some ass-wipe blathers on about how we just had the greatest quarter in history…regardless of what actually happened. Did our stock drop 25% in the last month? Who cares! Best quarter ever! Are our offices completely infested by man-eating slugs and the hanta virus? BEST QUARTER EVER.
Now, I don’t particularly mind being lied to. I have a girlfriend. I’m used to it. But if you’re going to make me take two hours out of my day, at least make them INTERESTING lies.
- Going forward, we will require all management to defend their jobs through feats of strength. Anyone who can best a manager at the competition will assume his title, salary, and trophy-wife.
- We have received word that the programming and accounting departments have failed to meet quotas. To counter this, they will now be run like a Viking slave-ship: working 20 hours straight, to a drum beat, while a man with a whip flogs those who can’t keep up. Code that image, cur! Carry the one! CARY THE FUCKING ONE!!!
- In an effort to implement a rewards system that actually works, each month the hardest worker will receive “two suckling pigs and a comely lass of virtue true.” Please note the lass is non-exchangeable. The orphanage is getting wise to us.
Unfortunately, our meeting did not include mention of child slavery or prostitution. Instead, there were lots of graphs, bad power-point presentations, and men so painfully not cut out for public speaking I could have sworn I was at a convention for Down Syndrome victims. Never in my life had I prayed so hard for an anthrax attack.
Fortunately, I have devised a six point plan for weaseling out of the next one:
Step 1: Smuggle Alka-Seltzer into meeting.
Step 2: Fake a Seizure (see steps 3-5).
Step 3: Drop tablets in mouth.
Step 4: Thrash around on floor howling. Use this opportunity to yell such choice phrases as “the executive VP of advertising is a salad-tossing cock tampon.”
Step 5: Soil myself.
Step 6: Kick back in a hospital pantsless watching Spanish soap operas. Chicks on Telemundo are ridiculously fucking hot.
Yes, it’s a flawless plan. But the real humor will be after the paramedics drag me from the scene, leaving a trail of shit in the middle of the conference room. There will be a 20 second pause and then some corporate douche bag will resume his prepared remarks on how it was the best quarter ever.
