Wednesday, May 4, 2011


I cruise into the conference room twenty minutes late looking like Al Jolson except my face is covered in barbecue sauce and I slam my empty briefcase on the table to show these clowns I mean business. I hoist up my stained khakis and say, “Let’s start this meeting off the right way with a half hour of off-topic bullshit. Over the weekend I spent a lot of time thinking about my friend Ron Tomato, who loves to rollerblade almost as much as he loves to lay around in bed all day.” Jill says, “What does your friend Ron have to do with our sales numbers?” and I say, “Well, Jill, I just can’t figure out if Ron Tomato is a fruit or a vegetable,” and Greg says, “Why are we having this meeting?” and I say, “Because we need to be on the same page so we can sell as many of these spicy nuts as possible,” and Greg says, “But we sell auto insurance,” so I throw a baggie of home-made Picante Cashew Blastz at him and say, “It’s time to start slinging these nuts, Henry.” Then Jill says, “Couldn’t we just do this through email?” and that set me off, I was absolutely livid after that. I say, “Email? On the Internet? Jesus Christ, Jill, I thought I knew you. The Internet is only for looking at beastiality and I can’t believe you just outed yourself in front of the whole staff. I am cutting off your Internet privileges.” Jill said, “But I need it for work,” so I said, “Go buy me a stork,” and sent her to the pet store with my company credit card. Then Rebecca says, “I’m hungry,” and I say, “Pretty sure you’re Rebecca,” and laugh for fifteen minutes and then I say, “But seriously, I brought snacks,” and sling some Ukrainian pysanka eggs at them. Greg says, “We can’t eat these, they're covered in paint” and I say, “It’s like horse hair, it’s an acquired taste. Now shove them in and get some culture, your American dirtbags,” and I cram one down my mouth and I feel my body being poisoned. Tim says, “We had a meeting yesterday. Why are we having this one?” and all I could think to do was eat my tie while screaming at Rebecca to tell me her sales numbers. She said they were the same as when she told me them yesterday and she says she has to get back to work and I tell her that’s bullshit, that we don’t do work here anymore, we’re outsourcing it all to Mrs. Henderson’s 4th grade class from Pine Brook Elementary because I saw those kids on a field trip to the nature museum and they’re all geniuses, every last one of them, especially this one named Peter who crammed his whole fist into his mouth, which impressed me so much I hired him as our new sales director, so here he is, staff, your new boss, Peter McMurray, and then Peter walks out with his hand in his mouth and his other hand's fingers are stuck together with jelly to form more of a fin than a hand and he’s barely taller than the table and Rebecca, Greg, and Tim ask if this is for real and I give Peter a standing ovation because he just stuck two fingers in each nostril. These Picante Cashew Blastz are going to be a top seller.

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