trendier. hipper. pretentious-er. rantier. unfocused-er. the new black.............ier.

Thursday, February 22, 2007


certain things have no place in certain habitats.

bull sharks have no place in petting zoos, jane's addiction has no place in music, and it would be unwise to unleash this walking, talking abomination anywhere in public.

so when i glanced over my shoulder at what two of my slovenly unathletic, mouth-breathing coworkers just did, i've ruled that something must forever be banished from the workplace, punishable by having all their batbelt-worn priceless necessities of life be immediately confiscated and destroyed. that, and maybe a thorough eye gouge, ironically administered by this.

(but that's just a clever photoshopped hoax, right? they don't actually make those, do they? there's no way a sane person would buy that kinda shit. holy fucking fuck. the next thing you're gonna tell me is that they invented a keyboard so that the beautifully sculpted, herculean tech support staff won't ever have to dangerously overexert themselves by frantically moving their hooves by extra fractions of an inch to type up trouble tickets. oh...umm, dear god.)

let me back up a little before i start making less sense than i already am.
there are generally three distinct orders of species whose daily cohabitation in any sea of cubicles, laptops, and baseless arrogance lead to many an excited yet illogical violation of their own personal dignity:
a) people who take themselves too seriously (ie. overachieving incompetent crm team lead and his ilk),
b) people who don't give a shit (everyone else minus two people), and
c) people who don't give a shit whilst violently mocking the entire immediate populace (me and this one seriously jaded douchebag in software testing).
the oversimplified rule of thumb is that nobody more than one order apart from another can engage in effective communication together. ideally, you always want a-orders to hang out with other a-orders, b's with b's, and so on. this holds true, mainly due to that in part and parcel, a-orders love the smell and taste of their own excrement. but it's when their ass-pounding desire to share their feces with everyone takes over that makes for seriously dubious interaction. take for example a conversation typical to those i have every day:
crm team lead: did you get my value-add recommendations to the latest and greatest deck on the vendor core competancy metrics? the pivot dashboard? i don't think i have to remind you that this is a mission critical living document.
me: dude, huh?
crm team lead: and when you get done with that, let's assemble the tiger team for a configuration breakthrough session. or would you prefer a lunch n' learn?
me: i'll kill you, i swear.
crm team lead: what was that? i didn't hear you - i was listening to the sound of my own voice on a continuous loop in this hot bluetooth earpiece i got from the nextel outlet. and now i have to go, (reaches out) high-five, my brother!
clearly the lines of communication here are an afterthought - especially on that last part. crm team lead is making a dreadful attempt to connect with someone way out of his order. which puts me in an unenviable position. do i turn my back and roll out, leaving him there looking like a complete dingus? or do i oblige, and we both end up looking like complete dinguses? since the degrees of said mouth-breathery increase as you approach the alphabetical top of the list, you need to maintain your always fragile image as you upgrade toward c-order status. but poorly producing b-order employees certainly have their purpose.

which is why to help me educate my new mandate (and my original point) from a formal perspective, i've employed the services of a fictional but prominent b-order denizen of the cubicles to serve as my conduit to everyone else. her name is beth ann, a systems integration specialist.

at the time of this post, beth ann legally changed her name to 'angyl-magdylyne' as a result of her massive transformation through suffering a series of identity crises. look at her; she was constantly ridiculed through her formative years keeping her sub-par in every facet of life. c's on report cards. 3rd string soccer midfielder. boyfriends that steal from her.

how did she get this way? was it a lack of human interaction? was it that her focus was on getting that used '88 camaro instead of on her personal hygiene? was it her oblivious but encouraging mother, then in the midst of her third marriage? in any event, her burgeoning desire to become a fashion school student, thereby gaining the crass individuality that she would give her ovaries for, was ultimately quelled due to her lack of talent. naturally, she did what anyone would do in her shoes - learn powerpoint and settle into a role in office management for years on end, forgotten by the world, but not by a host of eating disorders. every office has a beth an--er, angyl. yeah, angyl. gotta love feminazis.

so everyone listen up as angyl-magdylyne says, 'thou shalt never high-five, chest bump, fist pound, or anything else popularized by our favorite jive-talking cycloptic waste of life in the office.' you're gonna look like idiots. it's that simple.

[...if you care, right at this instant i hear arcturus's sideshow symphonies...]


Blogger mrk said...

This office episode was well worth the wait. Chrs, Mrk.

8:44 AM

Anonymous de-kool-one said...

Ok something I can relate to. Where can i get those bluetooth headphones? I know several people here who deserve them.

1:59 AM

Blogger M-dor said...

Can we catch footballs with our eye like he did?

6:23 AM

Blogger yuj said...

angyl txted me about Ur angry blog n i'm going to report you 2 hr.

n plz consider this Ur un-evite 2 nxt wk's department social @ dave n busters.

6:42 PM

Blogger GS said...

Dude, you know I support your corporate culture satire, but I'm so lost on this one. Haha, better watch out before you start resembling your object of scorn with its penchant for obfuscation.

5:04 PM

Blogger GS said...

A new cultural nadir for you.

10:27 PM

Blogger y0u d!3 n0w said...

i've been wondering about out how to fully capture the intrinsic foolishness that is the number 23, but i think the flick's script will do that for me on its own.

as for supposed obfuscation, here's a pic of ron artest playing the cello. that should clear everything up.

11:26 PM

Blogger Kevin said...

I have no idea what that rant was about, but I think I enjoyed some of it.

1:54 PM

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dork of dorks!!

6:31 PM

Blogger Mark said...

is that the cello he beat his girlfriend with? or the one he beat his dogs with?

9:20 AM


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