Fran,
Stop clogging up my inbox with needless emails of every outdated internet sensation you can scrounge up with your grubby little fingers and your sticky keyboard.
When someone sends you that picture of the adorable little kitten with the intentionally misspelled caption (in ALL CAPS, no less), don't pass it along to every unfortunate email address in your contact list. Instead, think to yourself, "who should I share this with that wouldn't want to cause me large dollops of harm because I just wasted 1.8 megabytes of their computer space with this slapdash attempt at cutesy humor?"
Those three letters, "FWD," might as well stand for "Fucking Waste of Delivery." Nobody wants to open anything that starts out that with that giant warning sign. So don't bother.
Since you seem like the type of person who might still think I'm "just joshing around," please allow me this moment of bluntness:
If you forward me one more YouTube video of a "dancing" baby, one more picture of a rodent on skis, one more lolcat, Rickroll, or Epic Fail, you can be sure that the only response to those emails I'll ever send is an embedded video of me purchasing a large gun, an attached photo of a bullet with your name on it, and the link to your home address via Google Maps.
LOL,
Your coworker
Proof that the workforce breeds equal amounts cruelty and stupidity.
8/02/2012
Music to Absolutely No One's Ears
Hey Rhonda,
So, I understand you're a music lover, eh? Well, perhaps more accurately, I hear you're a music lover. Hold on, even more accurately, I've been given undeniable proof of your musical affections courtesy of the unrelenting, shrill, off-key renditions of Top 40 hits you perform every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Or, for all intents and purposes, every goddamn day of the week.
What is that? What's going on? Explain yourself please.
Maybe you're just misunderstanding the concept of the radio. See, it's this thing where musicians--fancy word for "song makers"--put their music so it can then be played on the airwaves---fancy word for "invisible sound lines"--and then be shared with listeners across the world. And, so far, it seems like a pretty decent model of distribution. They don't need your help. It's doing just fine.
Now I understand, with the advent of internet radio and bit torrents and cloud players, that you want to get in on this next generation of music marketing. You may think you've stumbled upon a way to make popular music even more popular. (And that process somehow involves the keen sense of timing accompanying your not-at-all disturbing pelvic gyrations.) But let me assure you, it's just not the case.
When you shriek along with that "hot new Bieber track," it doesn't make me want to listen to Justin Bieber any more than I already didn't. It just makes me want to punch you in your voice box until it spits out a cure for the audio herpes you've given my earholes. And don't get me started on the whistling...
Oh, ya know what? Fuck it. Let's talk about the whistling.
There is a time when whistling along with a song is permissable. And that time is when the song you're whistling along with features actual fucking whistling! That's it! When that Flo Rida song comes on, go ahead, let loose, go nuts, do your thing. Do it any other time and you only prove that A) you don't know the actual lyrics or B) you have nothing else to fill the vast voids of communicative silence in your life because you can't be bothered thinking of words to speak. What's next? Growling? Oinking? Elbow clapping? It's a slippery slope...is what I'm saying.
So if you'd be kind enough to leave the singing and/or whistling to the people who get paid to sing and/or whistle their songs on the radio, that would be swell. Then you can get back to doing whatever it is they still pay you to do. (I wanna say soap refiller?)
- Your coworker
So, I understand you're a music lover, eh? Well, perhaps more accurately, I hear you're a music lover. Hold on, even more accurately, I've been given undeniable proof of your musical affections courtesy of the unrelenting, shrill, off-key renditions of Top 40 hits you perform every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Or, for all intents and purposes, every goddamn day of the week.
What is that? What's going on? Explain yourself please.
Maybe you're just misunderstanding the concept of the radio. See, it's this thing where musicians--fancy word for "song makers"--put their music so it can then be played on the airwaves---fancy word for "invisible sound lines"--and then be shared with listeners across the world. And, so far, it seems like a pretty decent model of distribution. They don't need your help. It's doing just fine.
Now I understand, with the advent of internet radio and bit torrents and cloud players, that you want to get in on this next generation of music marketing. You may think you've stumbled upon a way to make popular music even more popular. (And that process somehow involves the keen sense of timing accompanying your not-at-all disturbing pelvic gyrations.) But let me assure you, it's just not the case.
When you shriek along with that "hot new Bieber track," it doesn't make me want to listen to Justin Bieber any more than I already didn't. It just makes me want to punch you in your voice box until it spits out a cure for the audio herpes you've given my earholes. And don't get me started on the whistling...
Oh, ya know what? Fuck it. Let's talk about the whistling.
There is a time when whistling along with a song is permissable. And that time is when the song you're whistling along with features actual fucking whistling! That's it! When that Flo Rida song comes on, go ahead, let loose, go nuts, do your thing. Do it any other time and you only prove that A) you don't know the actual lyrics or B) you have nothing else to fill the vast voids of communicative silence in your life because you can't be bothered thinking of words to speak. What's next? Growling? Oinking? Elbow clapping? It's a slippery slope...is what I'm saying.
So if you'd be kind enough to leave the singing and/or whistling to the people who get paid to sing and/or whistle their songs on the radio, that would be swell. Then you can get back to doing whatever it is they still pay you to do. (I wanna say soap refiller?)
- Your coworker
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)