Thumb + Butt = Unacceptable Workmanship

Boy, all this work stuff's pretty hard, huh?

Yep. It sure is.

What is this whole work thing, anyways? I mean, isn't this whole concept of  labor just something perpetuated by the man to make us forget about the truly beautiful and enlightening things happening all around us? And aren't there so many more things you'd rather be doing than working? Working for the man?

That's probably not how you pictured yourself when you were a kid, right? As some office drone or clerical robot or the faceless recipient of boring responsibilities and mindless tasks. And yet, here you are, trapped in a world that demands hours upon hours of monotonous effort if you want that paycheck at the end of the week. If you want that money for your motor carriage payments. If you want those dollars for your drinking habit. If you want that cash for your canned vegetables and your club sandwiches and your cones of cream. You have to work for it.

I know it's not pleasant to hear. It's like raping your earholes with a bag full of brutally honest dicks, isn't it? But sometimes the truth stings. Well, if that little nugget of truth was an unwelcome and unlubricated intruder, you're going to want to brace yourself.

This work thing you're supposed to do...we all have to do it.


I know--


Stop it. Stop interrupting. I know you're flabbergasted by this revelation but just, please, let me continue this note and stop shouting at all the words. Thank you.

Anywho, as it turns out, those crappy, soul-crushing things you have to do every day are the same crappy, soul-crushing things that we've all been doing for quite a while now. The key difference here, of course, is that we legitimately do these things, rather than simply complaining about having to do them. On that note, I don't think you fully comprehend how the complaining process works. If you're not going to do the things you're complaining about having to do, then do you really need to complain about them? (This isn't a riddle. The answer is no.)

Ready for another mind-blower? All those tedious tasks that get under your skin, they don't go away when you shout at them, no matter how many obscene words and gestures you use. They're still there when you walk away in a huff and they're even still there when you clock out half an hour early. And guess what? They have to get done at some point. And your coworkers--the responsible ones who complain about doing stuff while actually doing that same stuff--are the ones who pay the price for it.

Clearly, a solution is needed. A reward system? Could we do something like that? How about we put together a nice little reward system? You know, like in kindergarten with the gold stars and the juiceboxes and whatnot? I'm all about giving kudos when they're due, so let's say that for every day of honest-to-goodness work you do, I won't stomp in one of your internal organs.

See? Now you're not just earning a paycheck, you're adding years onto your life, too!

We'll put this into effect immediately. Tomorrow, if you're a good little worker, I'll spare your kidneys. And we'll just play it by ear after that.

Hopefully and helpfully,
Your coworker




I'm not going to call you "Dyl Pickle." I get what you're going for (Dylan = Dill + Pickle = Dyl Pickle), but that's a stupid nickname. Stop trying to get that to catch on.

However, if you see Stewart, tell him I'm fully on board to call him Stew Meat. That's hilarious.

- Your regularly-named coworker


Your "Dating" Situation


I checked into that thing you wanted me to check into. (You know, the uh...the "boyfriend" thing.) And it turns out it would cost about $800 just for one night. So you tell me if you think it's worth it and I'll get back in touch with the business proprietor to let him know the when and where.

Now, just as a second thought, you realize that there are cheaper options out there, right? I mean, the "boyfriend" you were looking into was top-notch, Chippendale quality wiener. Not that I'm saying you're only interested in this type of "date" for his Dr. Strangelove, but I'm sure that's an important element. Am I right?

So, the thing is, this "boyfriend" is top tier, Dawson's Creek level of dreamy, too. And that's why the price is so outrageous. (I mean, you didn't think a dreamboat the caliber of James Van Der Beek circa 2001 with a schlong the caliber of Ron Jeremy circa 1974 was going to give up his stuff for pocket change, did you?) If you're genuinely willing to shell out the big bucks, he's just a phone call away.


There are other options out there. Not to sound harsh but...do you really need a Van Der Beek? I've always pictured you more as a Joshua Jackson gal anyways, and trust me, that's still a major step up. I've never seen Joshua devour a rotisserie chicken like it was seconds away from spoiling. (Although, now that I think about it, that might be a turn-on for some guys out there.)

Still, I'm thinking we need to realistically reevaluate your expectations. For example, have you considered the gentlemen who run ads on Craigslist? They seem quite nice, aside from their gratuitous use of words like "bang" and "splooge," and they're a much more cost-effective way to get the job done. Also, there's Danny. Come on, I know you guys have had your differences in the past--and I'm sure he regrets forwarding that picture of your camel toe to the entire office--but I think if you stuck a couple drinks into him he'd be really into it. So, figure $10 at Happy Hour for a Danny or $800 on the dream hunk from the "legitimate business." (Or, like $70 for one of the Craigslist guys. Seriously, that still seems like a steal.)

Anyways, do me a favor and think about it for a little while. Maybe shoot Danny an email and get the small talk going. Then ask him to go out some night and bang.

Let me know what you decide.

- Your coworker (and pimp, apparently)


Curry Keyboard


Next time you toot, could you point it away from my keyboard? I've wiped it down four times and my finger still smells like "used" chicken curry every time I hit the n key.

Your coworker


April Fools?


All right. I'm going to ask you this one time and you'd better tell me the truth...

Did you take my fucking White-Out? Seriously, asshole. I'm not playing around here. I need my White-Out.

I can't find it. And you had access to it. If you have it, give it back to me promptly before I smash your teeth in. Hand to God, I'll do it. I didn't pay $6.99 for the "extra smooth, extra coverage" stuff just to have some dickwad with a Bachelor's Degree in ass-sniffing come along and swipe it.

Oh, and if this is an April Fool's joke, know that my retaliatory response won't involve your office supplies. But it will involve your banging hot wife. I might just have to White-Out her face, if you know what I mean. (If you don't know what I mean, there's a drawing on the back of this note that should explain it better.)

In short, give that shit back.

Waiting with bated breath and clenched fists,
Your coworker

P.S. If you don't have it, please disregard this note. (Still take a look at the drawing, though. That might happen regardless.)