Congratulations, You've Ruined Music.

Dear Coworker,

Sometimes, people like to listen to music that you do not enjoy. Some music is bad. Other music is good. Not everyone agrees on which category a particular song falls into. I understand how difficult these concepts are to grasp, so allow me to point out a few situations--with the help of some of your favorite song lyrics--where your constant analyzing of our music choices might hinder the day's overall delightfulness and make you sound like an extreme douche basket:

Situation 1:
Just a small town girl, livin' in a looooonely world. 
She took a midnight train going an-y-wheeeere.

"Oh god, not this song again. Don't get me wrong, Journey is fine and all, but if I wanted to hear people sing along to "Don't Stop Believing" I'd go to the karaoke bar that I frequent at least once a week. So, whatever, you don't have to stop believing, but can you please just stop singing and humming? People enjoying popular music really gets my ire up. K, thanks."

Situation 2:

And I said "What about Breakfast at Tiffany's?" 
She said "I think I remember the film 
And if I recall I think we both kinda liked it." 
And I said "Well, that's the one thing we got."

"Are you guys actually listening to this song? I mean, really listening to the words? He's saying that their love is founded on a shared tolerance of a dumb, racist movie from the 60s! And that's it! That's the only damn thing they have in common! Come on, people! Open your ear holes already!

This is a prime example of what's wrong with the 90s. Nobody cared at all about what the hell the song meant, so long as it was catchy. I bet you guys still don't know that the Blues Traveler's song "Hook" is actually pointing out how stupid the general public is. John Popper--yeah, I know the singer's name--is literally mocking you for liking anything that's a "hip, three minute ditty." But I guess you guys wouldn't understand that because you only hear music, you don't really listen to it. Maybe I should save these mind-blowers for people who love knowledge."

Situation 3:
This is the story of a girl

Who cried a river and drown the whole world.
And while she looks so sad in photographs,
I absolutely love her...when she smiles.

"Oh great, another awful intrusion from the 90s pop rock canon. I can't wait to hear what's next. Are we going to be serenaded by one of the Gin Blossoms two recognizable hits?

Seriously, you guys can't be paying attention to the music if you're not glowing with rage by this point. Listen to that goddamn chorus! The singer sets up a perfect ABAB rhyme scheme...and then drops the ball entirely! Girl/world. Cool, that works. But photographs/smiles?? What is he thinking pulling that crap on us? He could've so easily made it photographs/laughs and we'd all be so much happier today. But instead he had to try so hard to be contrarian or individualistic or whatever it is pop rock musicians from the 90s wanted to be and ruined my fucking day. Completely wrecked. That's what this day is. Thanks for picking this station, guys. I'm going to go break something."

Situation 4:

With arms wide open
Under the sunlight
Welcome to this place
I'll show you everything
With arms wide open

"Ooooh, is this Creed? Can you turn it up a little? 

Awesome. Love this song."

I hope this helped clarify exactly why we hate you.

Your coworker


There Are Limits to How Often You Can Call a Coworker a Butthole.

Dear Coworker,

After meeting with HR, I've been asked to issue an apology for the way I recently spoke to you.

Apparently you took offense to my calling you a "creeping liability" to our company that "will ultimately lead to the demise of our very livelihoods." And that it was out of line for me to insinuate your DNA might have been compromised when your mother's egg mistook the glaze of an apple fritter as a viable life-giving fluid. Honestly, the logic of that doesn't even make sense. (Though it would explain why you always--always--look like you just finished eating a very messy donut.)

Specifically, I've been told you took umbrage with my use of the phrases "turd-like," "butthole-ish," and "farty brains" to describe your general essence. (By the way, I don't know why I relied on such similar insults. I clearly had butts on the brain that day.) And though these were all stunningly accurate descriptors, I am willing to strike them from the record.

*But since no mention was made of the similar phrase "ass blob," I reserve the right to continue inserting it into every conversation we have. Forever.

Also, that picture I drew of you having sex with the copier was probably in poor taste. I understand that no penis could reasonably be shaped just like Hitler and that it's highly unlikely you've ever screamed "SCAN MY DICK PARTS HARD, YOU SLUT MACHINE" during coitus. For this, I sincerely apologize.  I just assumed your typical colloquialisms transferred into the bedroom/copy room. I promise I'll take the picture down by next month at the latest.

Oh, and though HR never actually mentioned this, I should also apologize for telling that girl in our office you've been wanting to ask out that I know, without a doubt, that your peep is shaped like Hitler because you frequently use it to "salute" anyone who enters the restroom after you.

That was just a butthole-ish thing to do.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a follow-up meeting with HR to attend. (Heads up: Trent gets pretty bent out of shape when you say that logistic ideas like his "are probably how the Holocaust started.")

Sincerely (per HR's demand),
Your coworker


You Don't Bring Me Coffee.

Dear Coworker,

I've recently become something of a Twitter fiend. (It's ok, it's not gravely serious yet. I only post when I'm riding the bus or taking a poop my dog for a walk.) And one thing I've noticed in my tweeting adventures is how many people love to write "That awkward moment when..." even though the thing that follows is rarely awkward and the sentence itself makes no goddamn structural sense!

Ahem. Sorry.

Another thing I've noticed is this trend where people talk about their coworkers in a good way. Can you believe that shit? They say nice things about each other. They commend one another on the excellent work they did that day or say "thanks for helping me out" with a bunch of meaningless hashtags slapped onto the end of it. (They're not the most eloquent messages, but the sweetness more than makes up for it.)

And more often than not, if you search for the word "coworker" on Twitter, there is an abundance of people bringing their coworkers coffee. Real coffee. In a cup. Not a half-empty cappuccino that was sitting next to a trash can with lipstick marks on the lid. Fresh from the cafe, 100% real friggin' coffee. Sometimes with cream and sugar.

They don't even ask! They just do it!

Naked Mermaid Mocha. On your desk!
Can you imagine? Walking into work, blurry-eyed and barely breathing only to see a glorious cup of piping hot caffeine awaiting you with a little note that says "Got this 4 u just cuz." How happy would you be???? (A little disappointed in their use of social media abbreviations on a real world piece of paper,  BUT STILL!)

This is a call to you, coworker. Bring me coffee. Just do it. It would make my day.

Your Coworker

P.S. I hope you don't think I'm going to bring you coffee now. That's not part of the deal. #Sorry #OneSided #KeepingItReal #Winning #SorryAgainIKnowThisIsIrritating


Move Your Ass. Literally.

Dear coworker,

I can constantly see the crack in your butt. Always. It's never not visible. You should do something about that.

Or not. Whatever, it's your butt I guess.

But just know that everyone can see it. And nobody wants to. But if you keep it this conspicuous we'll have no choice but to look at it. We can't look away. It's gross, yes, but it's also entrancing in a very peculiar way.

You know those Magic Eye puzzles that were all the rage in middle school? Well, the crack of your butt is nothing like those. But we were all hoping that if you were going to keep the tip of butt mountain outside of your pants that maybe you could glue one of those Magic Eye puzzles overtop it so that we would feel less awkward about staring in that general vicinity for such a long time.

Oh, and your fly is down. You hot mess, you.

All the butts best,
Your coworker


Tone It Down, New Guy

New Guy,

Hi there. Let me start off by welcoming you to the fray. I'm sure you'll find the working environment here to be adequate and the people to be...here, most of the time.

As the new guy, I'm sure you have a whole bunch of questions about the lay of the land. What does what? Who does who? Why does everyone treat pens like they're made of gold? That sort of thing. But just relax for now. You need to learn the day-to-day before you start trying to change the world. Dip those toes-ies in the shallow end a little before you cannonball, hit your head on the bottom of the pool, break your skull, pass out and drown.

Because the more questions you ask, the more you'll know. And the more you know, the more you'll want to drink yourself to death. (Drowning your sorrows in bourbon is one thing, but literally drowning your lungs in bourbon is another.)

Right now you have the confident swagger of someone so brimming with ideals that they're practically falling out of your butt. It's to be expected. Around here we call that "The 6 Month Sincerity Strut." This is all new. You're untested. The world is your oyster and you are going to pee all over it. Right? Not so fast, honky tonk. Because I can assure you one thing: There is nowhere you think you can pee that I haven't already whizzed on a million times over. Catch my drift?

That sincerity and enthusiasm will quickly fade. I had it once. And while I hate to be the one to break this to you, I feel it's my duty to warn you about the giant pit of hissing snakes you're walking directly toward. If you don't pump the brakes and change your course, you're going to get bit. Hard and often.

If you will indulge me for a moment, I'd like to offer a few suggestions on how you can both improve your time at this company and also keep everyone from wanting to throw you off a very tall ledge onto avery jagged, knife-filled surface.

  1. Take it slow, Idaho. Remember who won the race between the Tortoise and the Hare? Imagine yourself as the Tortoise and this new job of yours is a race to your own grave. You can sprint there, sure, but wouldn't you rather extend the race by strolling along the track, taking in the scenery, and eating a lot of sandwiches on a lot of unauthorized snack breaks?
  2. In your first month, don't send emails to all of your coworkers telling them what to do and what not to do. That's just dumb. 
  3. Don't be dumb.
  4. If you ever feel like Anthony is looking at you like you're a piece of meat, know that Anthony is literally looking at you like you're a piece of meat. He probably wants to eat you. Stay away from Anthony.
  5. Understand that no one likes a man who appears too big for his britches. Be comfortable in the pants your current position dictates you wear. Don't try to wear pants that are outside your scope of responsibilities.
  6. Understand that no one likes it when you use the word "britches." Or use pants as an analogy to describe someone's sense of self importance.

But seriously, you're new. Don't act like you know more than the rest of us. Allow me to use a more fitting, pants-less analogy:

If you do not yet have your driver's license, and are in the passenger seat trying to learn how this whole vehicle manipulation thing works, it's important to simply sit and observe. Ask questions if you'd like. And if you believe you somehow know more than the person driving (even though you've never operated a motor carriage before), I suppose you can silently disagree with them. But DO NOT grab the steering wheel and attempt to turn the car around because you feel they are driving in the wrong direction. That's a good way to get kicked out of a moving vehicle.

Or, as my good friend Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson would say: Know your role and shut your mouth. Jabroni.

Hope these suggestions find you before Anthony takes a bite out of your calf.

- Your Coworker


Butt Fridge

Dear Breakroom Fridge,

You stink like butts.

And ham. Always ham.

Like this. But smellier.
Get it together.

Someone Who Wants to Be Back Inside You


Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animals


I do not care if you celebrate Christmas. I do not care if you celebrate Kwanza. I do not care if you celebrate Hanukkah. (Or Chanukah. Or Nun-chucks.) I don't even care if you acknowledge that January 1st signifies the beginning of a new year. Maybe you think the year starts with the first melting of snow or that it restarts every time you microwave a batch of pizza rolls. I'm fine with it all.

Just please keep your mouth shut about the whole Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas turf war. I don't care. You shouldn't care. None of us should even be talking about this because it's a non-controversy. (A nontroversy, if you like.)

If you greet me by saying "Happy Holidays," I won't take offense that I don't celebrate all of the holidays. I celebrate some of them, and I get the idea. And if I accidentally slip a "Merry Christmas" to you, and you don't celebrate the holiday, I expect nothing, not even a polite head nod, in return. You can even tell me to go suck Kris Kringle's jolly ding dong if you want. But don't talk my ear off about how ethnocentricity is ruining the fabric of American society. (I'd probably even agree with you, I just don't want to discuss it.)

Does Santa come down your chimney wearing a velour jumpsuit or does Krampus come crashing through your window to stuff you in his demonic sack? Who cares? It's like asking if I'd prefer diamond-studded rocket ships or a dozen Heidi Klum clones as my personal attendants. They're both wildly improbable figments my imagination, so what's the point in debating it?

Bah fucking humbug,
Your Coworker

P.S. I have 12 identical ideas for late Christmas gifts, if anyone is interested.