Christmas Elf Can’t Believe It’s Christmas Time Again; Quits Job in Emotional, Tell-All Letter to Santa Claus

Christmas elf angry

The following letter was retrieved inside a box of Thomas & Friends toy train dumped in a trash bin in the North Pole:

Dear Santa / Boss / Big Man / Big Red / Head Ho-Ho-Honcho,

I regret to inform you that I would like to tender my resignation as Senior Quality Assurance Plaything Officer from November 4, 2014. I hereby give one month notice to leave Santa’s Workshop.

I made this decision not because I’m unhappy with the opportunities you’ve presented but as a strategic career move…

Oh frack it.

Of course I’m unhappy. It’s CHRISTMAS FREAKIN’ TIME AGAIN.

Let me say that one more time in case you missed it despite the all caps. IT’S CHRISTMAS FREAKIN’ TIME AGAIN.

Son of a mother trucker!

I mean–good grief! How could this crapola be possible? I remember last Christmas like it was yesterday! Heck I still haven’t vomited the last of that expired gingerbread you passed around your overworked, underpaid “little friends” as a “treat” for working overtimes!

Wasn’t it just yesterday that that poor elf from the doll assembly line “accidentally” stitched his nose to a Taylor Swift Singing Doll’s gown because word was that he worked for 34 hours straight to make enough Taylor Swifts before Christmas Eve?

And wasn’t it just yesterday that you–in recognition and compensation for his actions you described in a memo as “worthy of emulation”–gave that elf five boxes of Taylor Swift Singing Dolls (the exact same ones he makes) to give to his daughters?

Way to go with battling alienation with corporate social responsibility, Boss!

But you’re not fooling me anymore. IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME AGAIN and I know you have a dirty hand in this monkey business!

We always say time flies around this sweatshop–sorry, I mean workshop–but it’s crazy how it’s been zooming like Rudolph on steroids these past few years!

Boss, I know you have some magical powers (not much but I know you have a few tricks otherwise you couldn’t have made that sweet woman Mrs. Claus fall for a ginormous, unshaven, basement dweller like you), so tell me–did you tinker with time?

It makes perfect sense for you and your sponsors financially. After all, you only fill your coffers during Christmastime, so who’s to say you didn’t do any hocus-pocus to make time go faster, so you could amass more wealth from this infantile culture you’ve nourished and thus become as fat and rich as humanly possible in whatever span of time you have left in this world?

My buddies and I like to joke behind your back that you’re in a tight race with George RR Martin for the next stop (newsflash: I hope it’s you who wins because I still want to know what happens to Arya Stark–my favorite vengeful character). Continue reading Christmas Elf Can’t Believe It’s Christmas Time Again; Quits Job in Emotional, Tell-All Letter to Santa Claus

Why It’s Better to Be Buried than to Be Cremated

Buried bones

With All Souls Day coming, my office friends and I got to talking about how it’s best to be laid to rest because of course everyone thinks about such a stupid topic every once in a while when one nears middle age where one’s finally halfway done.

It was such a lively discussion about dying that I thought it best to continue an exposition of my opinions here on why it’s still better to be buried than to be cremated. It’s admittedly a very old argument like coffee vs tea, dogs vs cats, ice cream vs cake, or Brad Pitt vs Tom Cruise–timeless as it were and as old as there have been insufferable idiots in the world.

But enough with the introduction. I say it’s better for a person to be buried than to be cremated not because of any real religious reasons but because it’s what he or she deserves.

Get this: the best way to assess the value of most things in life is to quantify the human labor involved in producing them.

Thus, a hand-crafted car is way more expensive than your regular cookie cutter because there’s just so much more sweat and skill expended to create the commodity. To me, the same logic makes it very clear which between burying and cremation is ultimately and transcendentally more valuable.

With burying, you have a whole bunch of people worrying about which coffin to buy (and if there’s still something available your size without the funeral director having to hack away your legs to make you fit), an entire drama regarding the piece of land to purchase for your final resting place, and between those two just a crowd of people getting severely disrupted in their busy lives to do one thing or another with your lifeless body which doesn’t give a flying squirrel’s ass what’s happening around it.

With cremation, you get a guy cooking you. That’s about it. Continue reading Why It’s Better to Be Buried than to Be Cremated

Box of Fries Starts Movement to Stop “Barbaric” Fastfood Patrons from Eating Fries Straight from the Counter

Box of fries

In the news today, Frenchy, who’s a box of French fries, called a press conference to declare that IT’S HAD ENOUGH.

“People eating me even when I’m still on the fast food counter–I can’t do this anymore!” Frenchy exclaimed on national television.

“You don’t know how it feels to be shamelessly picked and eaten even before everybody has properly sat at a table. Burgers don’t get this treatment neither does chicken. Or spaghetti. It’s just us French fries that have to put up with this double standard!”

Frenchy is just the latest among disgruntled french fries who have recently come out to criticize fast food diners for being unjust. Last week, Patty Potato also drew the attention of hungry junkfood eaters as it picketted around a popular foodchain with the slogan “Sit Before You Eat!”

“To be a box of french fries is to live in constant fear of being a victim of undisciplined gastric urges. I mean, why can’t you hold off for a few more minutes? How have we allowed this barbaric culture to spread unchecked?” Patty said.

Meanwhile, to bring more attention to its newfound cause, Frenchy has started a blog showing pictures of fast food patrons “revealing their true colors” and eating straight from the tray on the counter. The blog–which has already gathered 400 followers as of press time–is entitled “Fryinism.”

“This is just the beginning of a wider movement to right what is wrong in the world we’re living in. With my fellow fries, we’ll bring attention to other common indecencies, like dipping fries in ice cream and inserting them inside burgers. Eww.”

A quick poll conducted by us found out 95.9% of fast food eaters think this advocacy is totally original and that it might lead to a full-blown revolution in fast food counter etiquette. But our French fry issue poll being unscientific, please take this with a grain of salt.

Artful Obfuscation Vol. 1

And now for a round of artful obfuscation where we render normal sentences and phrases completely unintelligible and therefore unmistakeably deep by replacing the final word or phrase with something random the reader does not expect. For clarity of the current venture, we will put the last term in bold and all caps.

Let us begin:

Your face is bright as the morning BIRD PLUMAGE.

And when I looked into her eyes, I knew that I have fallen in love with CHIAROSCURO.

Woke up this morning with a sense of THE THIRD REICH.

He couldn’t tell what she was thinking because she’s a MISSED TRAIN STOP.

There’s nothing here for us because we’re KIDS EATING WORMS IN THE PLAYGROUND.

I thought I had it but the world isn’t MOTHER’S HORRIBLY BLAND CHICKEN SOUP.

You and I both know it’s either here or THE OILY KEYS ON A LAPTOP.

I swear I won’t talk about love but it’s A LAB FULL OF DEAD RATS CRAWLING.

Wine, cheese, and MECHANICAL APOCALYPSE DOLLS

How could I resist when she’s sitting there A RIPPED PAGE OF AN OLD CATALOG FOR FAKE JEWELRY?

Winking, smiling, at my STOLEN EGYPTIAN SARCOPHAGUS

They’ll try to catch us from now until PAUL MCCARTNEY PUTS ON HIS SUNDAY TROUSERS.

He’d like a slice of pizza. She’d like a TISSUE WITH EMILY’S NUMBER ON IT.

It’s great to live but it’s better to PLUCK OUT A GIANT TADPOLE’S EYE.

And that’s it for this round of artful obfuscation. ‘Til next time, EXPIRED CANS OF MUSHROOMS!

A Guy Who Tried His Best

Have you heard about that guy who tried his best? He had his game face on and brought his A game when D Day arrived. Failure was not an option but he nevertheless put it all on the line. Left no stone unturned and took no prisoners. Word is he put his very soul into it then bet his life when the stakes and the odds against him piled up high. He said shoot for the stars and land on the moon. Screamed never say never and never say die. They told him it’s useless and thought him a fool but he clung to hope and fought a losing battle just the same. Tooth and nail he went down fighting. Have you heard about that guy? That guy’s name was John. In the end, there was a Facebook post about him.

Discourse Analysis

The art of conversation is the discipline of discussing things other than the matter at hand that begs to be discussed. Nobody should ever mention or even hint at the stinky elephant in the room unless it’s a matter of life and death at the heels of that elephant. It’s just propriety and respect towards the other person who rightly expects your darndest to beat around the bush and essentially obfuscate any information that points to the T word.

So. If I like to talk about how your presence makes me feel real uncomfortable, I’ll probably just kick off a conversation about today’s traffic. Or if you’re the kind of person who I honestly can’t connect with on any genuine level, I think I’ll just have a little chat about your job.

When I’m thinking your mole is sucking in the entire universe, prepare to hear something about the cloudy weather.

And if one of these days, I get truly tempted to say you actually post the same angle of your face too much on Facebook, anticipate a tangential topic along the lines of–Have you seen that funny video of a sombrero-wearing cat riding a bicycle?

Your boyfriend reminds me of a rotating spit of kebab–Where’s the best place to eat Persian?

Bother You

So who did you bother today? Did you wake up and bother your roommate or your mother (because you’re still living with her) when you couldn’t find the coffee? Stepped out of the house to step on your sleeping dog, bothered it out of its magical dog dreams, howling, cursing you with its morning dog breath? You probably have one, too, and it’s been bothering people without you knowing for far too long (I mean the dog breath). But that’s ok because bothering is the real relationship mesh that binds society, keeps it doing what it’s supposed to be doing even while it in no way agrees with the terms. Why the biggest bothersome boatload of bull of all is work but you do it anyway since it’s necessary–a truly bothering bit of banal observation right there. And in your free time when your boss isn’t bothering you with business bollocks that you and him honestly do not care about, you, of course, hit Facebook and decide to bother somebody with a little chat truly lacking of purpose or intelligent direction. “What up?” “How are you?” “Hi!” Again–that’s completely ok ’cause the other party totally expects you or someone else bothering her or him that day; give or take a couple of minutes you bothered that person with predictable precision. So enough with the “So sorry to bother you” formality because believe me you’ll be bothering the bugger out of everyone until you can’t be bothered to breathe your last.