Another Small Joke.


I have a little joke for you. A-hem...

Knock knock.

(I'm going to assume you're saying "Who's there?" aloud to help me out with this rather than being a total dickbag about it, staring awkwardly at the screen wondering why I've chosen this kind of call-and-response joke structure.)


(Again, a little assistance from you with the "Howie who?" would be nice right here. So say it. Say it!!)

Howie gonna get our coworker to stop chortling at every stupid fucking thing somebody says? Not everything is funny! In fact, most things people say around here are incredibly bland and/or depressing.

Like, why would you laugh about someone getting cancer? It isn't even rectal cancer, which is the only type of cancer it's even slightly acceptable to laugh about. (Even then you laugh by yourself, when you're positive no one else can hear what kind of insensitive monster you are.)

Hell, pretty much everything I've ever said at work falls into one of two groups: A) an incoherent mush of words that no one can understand because it's too early in the morning/too late in the day/too hard to concentrate over the sound of my conscience screaming at me for still being employed at this wreckage of a company, or B) another stupid joke about Kim Kardashian. And I'm well aware jokes about Kim Kardashian have reached their expiration date. But I was hoping if I made enough jokes about Kim Kardashian people would stop talking to me altogether...as that's my dream. But sadly, you--and only you--still laugh uncontrollably at them. If I added in a well-worn slight about Paris Hilton you'd probably poop your pants and have to be committed to a mental institution because the guffaws would never stop.

So...Howie gonna get you to stop laughing at all of the dumb? Huh? HOWIE GONNA DO THAT???

Sincerely wanting to beat the chuckles out of you,
Your Coworker


Workplace Lottery Pools Are Never a Good Idea


We all want to be millionaires. We all want the freedom that comes with owning a small chunk of paradise, whether that paradise be a shiny new car or The World's Largest Water Slide. Most importantly, we all want to leave this wretched hellhole we favorably call "the workplace" far behind. But here's the rub: we don't want to do it as a unit.

That's why your constant suggestion for us all to pool our money together to buy a bunch of lottery tickets is met with glaring disdain from everyone besides Meredith (who, really, is just excited that someone is finally including her in a conversation).

I fear you don't understand our generally begrudging responses and can't fathom why your idea isn't met with applause and confetti. Let's use a fun example to clarify:

If I land a sweet new gig (perhaps as the proprietor of The World's Largest Water Slide), I'd prefer not to show up for my first day on duty to see your dumb, smiling face waiting at the top of the slide. Maybe you're wearing swim trunks, preparing to take a glorious slide down four stories of bliss, or maybe you're wearing a blue polo shirt that is the official dress code of my employees--either way, you are not welcome there. That's my new home. My new workplace. The last thing I want to see is a pristine example of why I fled my previous workplace.

Attention: No Merediths Allowed

So if I were to win 10 million dollars, I would expect that day to be the happiest day of my life. But then the taxes would come. At least 2.5 million goes away to the IRS. And that's fine because 7.5 million dollars is still enough to keep The World's Largest Water Slide at the top of my To-Purchase list. Oh, but wait, now I have to split that money with Keith and Bjorn and Lily and that creepy guy from Accounting and Lester and...ugh, Meredith. And now we have to figure out how to divvy up millions of dollars. My coworkers, who argue over how much they have to pay for that pizza we all had equal slices of, are now supposed to do this with no kerfuffles or broken fingers?

You know that whoever physically buys the tickets will make like the pen thief they are and pocket the whole damn jackpot. A legal battle will ensue, we'll all grow to hate each other even more, and a giant chunk of our winnings will have been wasted on lawyer fees.

There's just no good way to make this happen. Someone's going to get shafted. And it will probably be Meredith.

...On second thought, the downsides aren't so insurmountable. Put me in for twenty bucks.

Good luck,
Your coworker


It's So Easy To Hate You

Dear Coworker,

Why are you trying so hard to make me hate you? It's really not necessary. I can hate you just fine without all the extra bells and whistles. Your excessive effort is bordering on sadism.

How do I hate you? Don't worry, I'll count the ways.

I can hate you while drinking a soda. I can hate you while singing a coda.
I can hate you in an office, I can hate you the whole month of August.
I can hate you from afar, my hate can pull a freight car.
I can hate you and all your pets, I can hate you in small vignettes.

But I can not ever like you. Because you're just the worst goddamn employee and an even poorer excuse for something that doesn't bug the everliving shit out of me. I know that wasn't very witty but I have a headache and all this hating your guts has made me quite tired.

With Hate,
Your Coworker