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