A Special Announcement
Good morning.
Stay tuned for a special, ZFS!-related announcement.
(Hold music; something peppy to get you energized and ready to face the world. Speaking of, I was on hold the other day, waiting to talk with someone from a radio station's billing department, and the hold music was an instrumental version of Nirvana's "Heart Shaped Box." How weird is that? It wasn't orchestral or anything, but it was definitely a little piano-heavy for a song so directly tied to a musical movement that involved a lot of flannel and not bathing. I'm just sayin'. Eh, here comes "Old Man" Davis...)
Hey everybody, C-dog here. First, let me apologize for being in my boxers while I address you. A feeling of mild nausea is normal and if anyone needs to lie down for a minute, please go to the back of the internet so you don't disturb the others.
Okay, anyway, the reason I've brought you all here today is... oh, wait, did the girl show up with the bagels and coffee for everyone? No? She brought a sleeve of Saltines and a half-can of soda? Wow. That's... wow. Well, that's what you get when you go with the lowest bidder, eh? Am I right? Who's with me?!
Ahem...
Anyway, the announcement is this: I'm taking off of work today because I got about an hour of sleep last night and it's just too dangerous for me to handle invoices in this condition. Safety first, you know? Were I to attempt to process my invoices while drowsy, there's a very good chance that I would...
A) lose an arm in one of our many, many sharp-bladed, invoice cutting machines.
B) cause a meltdown of our nuclear-powered invoices processing machine which, I don't mind telling you, we bought cheap from the Russians and isn't exactly the most stable of nuclear-powered devices, ifyaknowwhatImean?!?!?! It's got big cracks on it's sides and it's dripping some kind of goo that eats through the floor like the creature's blood in Alien.
or, and this would be a pants-wetting nightmare...
C) I could possibly type in the number "3" when I meant to type in a "4." This, of course, would cause the very fabric of our society to tear apart; there would be rioting in the streets, our country's power supply would fail, Major League Baseball would disband and it's players would start hitting people with bats for no reason... it'd be chaos of the highest order.
So, in an effort to avoid these things, I'm going to sit this one out if that's okay with all of you. I'm sure the anarchists who read my blog will be pissed that such an opportunity for utter horror is being side-stepped, but they can just deal with it. Those guys are assholes.
Okay, there you go. That's the big news for the day. There are grief counselors out in the lobby if you feel you need to talk about what's going on with a trained professional. Otherwise, please go about your business and I'll be back later on, once I've gotten some proper shut-eye. Talk to you soon, kids, and hey, could the last one out lock up and give the key to that creepy, old guy with the weird leg who lives down in the boiler room and smells like cabbage?
Thanks!
Stay tuned for a special, ZFS!-related announcement.
(Hold music; something peppy to get you energized and ready to face the world. Speaking of, I was on hold the other day, waiting to talk with someone from a radio station's billing department, and the hold music was an instrumental version of Nirvana's "Heart Shaped Box." How weird is that? It wasn't orchestral or anything, but it was definitely a little piano-heavy for a song so directly tied to a musical movement that involved a lot of flannel and not bathing. I'm just sayin'. Eh, here comes "Old Man" Davis...)
Hey everybody, C-dog here. First, let me apologize for being in my boxers while I address you. A feeling of mild nausea is normal and if anyone needs to lie down for a minute, please go to the back of the internet so you don't disturb the others.
Okay, anyway, the reason I've brought you all here today is... oh, wait, did the girl show up with the bagels and coffee for everyone? No? She brought a sleeve of Saltines and a half-can of soda? Wow. That's... wow. Well, that's what you get when you go with the lowest bidder, eh? Am I right? Who's with me?!
Ahem...
Anyway, the announcement is this: I'm taking off of work today because I got about an hour of sleep last night and it's just too dangerous for me to handle invoices in this condition. Safety first, you know? Were I to attempt to process my invoices while drowsy, there's a very good chance that I would...
A) lose an arm in one of our many, many sharp-bladed, invoice cutting machines.
B) cause a meltdown of our nuclear-powered invoices processing machine which, I don't mind telling you, we bought cheap from the Russians and isn't exactly the most stable of nuclear-powered devices, ifyaknowwhatImean?!?!?! It's got big cracks on it's sides and it's dripping some kind of goo that eats through the floor like the creature's blood in Alien.
or, and this would be a pants-wetting nightmare...
C) I could possibly type in the number "3" when I meant to type in a "4." This, of course, would cause the very fabric of our society to tear apart; there would be rioting in the streets, our country's power supply would fail, Major League Baseball would disband and it's players would start hitting people with bats for no reason... it'd be chaos of the highest order.
So, in an effort to avoid these things, I'm going to sit this one out if that's okay with all of you. I'm sure the anarchists who read my blog will be pissed that such an opportunity for utter horror is being side-stepped, but they can just deal with it. Those guys are assholes.
Okay, there you go. That's the big news for the day. There are grief counselors out in the lobby if you feel you need to talk about what's going on with a trained professional. Otherwise, please go about your business and I'll be back later on, once I've gotten some proper shut-eye. Talk to you soon, kids, and hey, could the last one out lock up and give the key to that creepy, old guy with the weird leg who lives down in the boiler room and smells like cabbage?
Thanks!
posted by Clinton at 7:39 AM
9 Comments:
Aren't you going to tell us why you only got an hour of sleep? Enquiring minds want to know.
Hey -- I do not smell like cabbage.
It's more a 50/50 mix of watercress and collard greens.
I do need to speak to a grief counselor, what will I do without you at work today? Who will I turn to when I want to poke fun at Debra's nasal-y Fran Drescher laugh? Who will talk about last night's baseball games with me? Who will laugh when I hit Mike with some of my undoubtedly witty gay jokes? DON'T DO THIS TO ME!! For future reference, before taking a day off please check with me a minimum of three (3) days in advance. Thank you.
Hahaha.
4.
NO! Wait!
I meant 3!!!
3!!!
Or 2.
1.
Hey, CCM. Since Clinton's not in today, are you gonna eat that packet of ranch dressing?
For the love of god, go have a drink for me then! It’s only been three hours and I’ve already had to leave my desk 10 times to keep from getting so angry I actually start cursing out loud to no one in particular. Something cool like a Margarita is preferred, but any alcoholic concoction to “help take the pain away” will suffice. Now get to it, C-Dog. I’m counting on you!
Hi, I'm awake now.
Jeff... It wasn't anything exciting, seriously. I just couldn't get to sleep and, every time I got close, a really loud truck or motorcycle would go by and wake me up. It was the suck.
Braden... Sorry, dude. That was insensitve of me. Your smell makes me hungry for soul food, if that makes you feel better.
Clint's Cube Mate (Andrew)... Just try to hold on. I'll be back tomorrow. Oh, and the Mets really lit up Cain last night, didn't they?
Lioux... HE BETTA DON'T!!!
Hoosier... Let's just say that I drank three cans of malt liquor this morning. And I did it all for you.
Lioux -
Ranch dressing? There's a box of Saltines, candy in a jar, and some creamy peanut butter on his desk, all of which I'd go for before the Ranch dressing. I would help myself to a cracker but I know Clint keeps count, and checks the jar of peanut butter for finger prints each morning, which he then sends to a lab for analysis. I'm not that stupid!!
I once heard an instrumental Muzak version of Madonna's 'Like A Virgin' in the grocery store once [!].
Insomnia sucks! I couldn't sleep the night before and had to leave work early yesterday because I felt like I just came down off a heroin binge with Courtney Love.
Thanks for thinking of our safety C-Dog.
CCM... My desk is boobytrapped, yo! You'll go in for the candy jar and come out missing a thumb.
Big Daddy... No problem. It's what I do.
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