Coworker,
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.)
Howie.
(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
Proof that the workforce breeds equal amounts cruelty and stupidity.
Showing posts with label stop it. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stop it. Show all posts
6/25/2014
7/11/2013
The Pens. It's the Pens Again.
Coworkers,
The goddamn pens are gone again.
Are we serious with this? Who's got 'em? WHO IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS UNHOLY HAS THE PENS?
Okay. I lost my cool there for a second. I'd like to apologize for that. I don't mean to be angry. I would just like to know where those darn pens wind up at the end of the day. Ya know? And it would please me so much if you would BRING BACK SOME FUCKING PENS!
Black ink, red ink...fill them with indigo-dyed semen if you want. I don't care! Just give them to me so I can stop scavenging the workplace like a junkie who's suddenly lost every speck of crack that has ever existed in the world.
I will give any one of you a dollar if you can provide me footage of the dick-fart who is stuffing their pockets full of our pens. Provide me with that footage and I will not have to CUT YOU ALL.
If I do not have a legitimate, non-gnawed-on pen in my hands within 24 hours, your world will be ended.
Thank you and have a nice day.
- Your coworker
The goddamn pens are gone again.
Are we serious with this? Who's got 'em? WHO IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS UNHOLY HAS THE PENS?
Okay. I lost my cool there for a second. I'd like to apologize for that. I don't mean to be angry. I would just like to know where those darn pens wind up at the end of the day. Ya know? And it would please me so much if you would BRING BACK SOME FUCKING PENS!
Black ink, red ink...fill them with indigo-dyed semen if you want. I don't care! Just give them to me so I can stop scavenging the workplace like a junkie who's suddenly lost every speck of crack that has ever existed in the world.
I will give any one of you a dollar if you can provide me footage of the dick-fart who is stuffing their pockets full of our pens. Provide me with that footage and I will not have to CUT YOU ALL.
If I do not have a legitimate, non-gnawed-on pen in my hands within 24 hours, your world will be ended.
Thank you and have a nice day.
- Your coworker
6/24/2013
If The Sky Is Dark, It's Still Nighttime. Dickface.
Hey Boss,
I'm going to need you to stop calling me at 5 o'clock in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I love a good early morning wake-up call as much as the next guy--especially since my REM cycle was already destroyed from the routine drunk calls I receive from my mentally unstable exes--but maybe you should just wait a few hours.
And I get the rationale. You want me to come into work early to do...something, I suppose. (Never sure what that is, but it always involves the word "coverage.") And the only way to alert me of this need is to call me at 5 o'clock in the morning, because you clearly don't have a more logical back-up plan in place for this kind of situation. (Don't worry, you've only been doing this for 11 months. That's not even a full year to figure out what the words "on-call" mean. It takes at least twice that time and a whole slew of charts to fully grasp this outlandish concept.)
But if you call me at 5 A.M., I then have to throw my phone against the closest available surface, where it shatters into a thousand glorious pieces, thus disengaging the alarms I've set to wake me up for work. So now there's a good chance I'm actually going to come in late rather than early.
And that's on you.
So, the next time you consider dialing my number before sunrise, I want you to think about the chain reaction that will ensue. Then I want you to throw your phone against a nearby surface so that you can't wake anybody else up that day. Otherwise, I'm going to start calling you at 3 A.M.--I'll already be up debating the merits of something called "fork stumping" with my very sensible ex--and tell you not to call me in two hours.
Cool?
Cool.
- Your unnecessarily tired employee
I'm going to need you to stop calling me at 5 o'clock in the morning. Don't get me wrong, I love a good early morning wake-up call as much as the next guy--especially since my REM cycle was already destroyed from the routine drunk calls I receive from my mentally unstable exes--but maybe you should just wait a few hours.
And I get the rationale. You want me to come into work early to do...something, I suppose. (Never sure what that is, but it always involves the word "coverage.") And the only way to alert me of this need is to call me at 5 o'clock in the morning, because you clearly don't have a more logical back-up plan in place for this kind of situation. (Don't worry, you've only been doing this for 11 months. That's not even a full year to figure out what the words "on-call" mean. It takes at least twice that time and a whole slew of charts to fully grasp this outlandish concept.)
But if you call me at 5 A.M., I then have to throw my phone against the closest available surface, where it shatters into a thousand glorious pieces, thus disengaging the alarms I've set to wake me up for work. So now there's a good chance I'm actually going to come in late rather than early.
And that's on you.
So, the next time you consider dialing my number before sunrise, I want you to think about the chain reaction that will ensue. Then I want you to throw your phone against a nearby surface so that you can't wake anybody else up that day. Otherwise, I'm going to start calling you at 3 A.M.--I'll already be up debating the merits of something called "fork stumping" with my very sensible ex--and tell you not to call me in two hours.
Cool?
Cool.
- Your unnecessarily tired employee
10/31/2012
Stop 'Spooking' in Puns
Darryl,
I know today is Halloween, but stop trying to awkwardly insert the word "spooky" into everything you say. It's not a pun if you just drop it into the middle of a sentence that otherwise has nothing to do with that word...or anything else that's ever existed as a thought.
A pun is a clever manipulation of words that suggests it has multiple meanings and can be applied in a humorous way. A regular phrase with "spooky" attached to it is you failing to understand why no one ever wants to take long bike rides with you. We'd probably try to swerve into heavy traffic just 'cause, hey, you can't die in your nightmares, right?
Here are a few more examples of why all your pets probably commit suicide:
So...moratorium on the bad puns, ok?
They're ghastly.
Happy Halloween,
Your coworker
I know today is Halloween, but stop trying to awkwardly insert the word "spooky" into everything you say. It's not a pun if you just drop it into the middle of a sentence that otherwise has nothing to do with that word...or anything else that's ever existed as a thought.
A pun is a clever manipulation of words that suggests it has multiple meanings and can be applied in a humorous way. A regular phrase with "spooky" attached to it is you failing to understand why no one ever wants to take long bike rides with you. We'd probably try to swerve into heavy traffic just 'cause, hey, you can't die in your nightmares, right?
Here are a few more examples of why all your pets probably commit suicide:
- "Did you see the treats Karen brought in today? They're spooky-licious."
- "Stapler? More like spook-ler!"
- "You guys, I think my tie is haunted. I guess the dress code today is spooky casual! I mean business spooky! I mean--hey where are you guys going?..."
So...moratorium on the bad puns, ok?
They're ghastly.
Happy Halloween,
Your coworker
9/30/2012
It Turns Out I Hate Your Taste in Everything
Brent,
Do you remember what happens at the end of that Tyler Perry movie? No, not that one. The other one. You know, the one where the guy dresses up like a fat, old, stereotype? No, not the one with Eddie Murphy. Yeah, you know the one.
And what are the lyrics to that Taylor Swift song? No, not the one about her ex-boyfriend. The one about her other ex-boyfriend. Yeah, the douchey one. You have that album, don't you? Of course you do. Because it's one of the most awful things to ever bumblefuck into existence. And you're an avid collector of that genre.
Now, I know that my tastes aren't exactly classy (though I will defend my love of cheesy, 90s pop rock to the grave), but...C'MON? T-Swift? T-Perry? T-he Office Season 7? How is it possible for one person to not only endure that much awful, but actually claim to enjoy it without bursting out into fits of uncontrollable laughter/rage??
I'm willing to overlook your fondness for Two and a Half Men, because you're one of 800 million viewers to somehow fall under the trance of mediocre jokes about relationships and child-rearing that didn't already end up on Everybody Loves Raymond. Speaking of which...you still watch Everybody Loves Raymond? Even the cast of Everybody Loves Raymond will turn the channel if it comes on TBS on Sunday afternoons.
Michael Bolton. "Cotton-Eye Joe." Zach Braff movies. Kristen Stewart. NASCAR. Those are my top 5 reasons for wanting to punch you in the decision-making part of your brain.
I mean, don't you ever get the urge to watch a Tarantino movie? Or listen to Simon & Garfunkel? Or...not recite the lyrics to Josh Groban's entire discography? At the very least, stop trying to force those interests onto your coworkers! We will never like them for the same reasons we will never like waking up to find sores on our genitals.
I'll make you a deal: go one shift without starting a sentence with "Here's why country music is so genuine..." and I'll gladly throw away all my Gin Blossoms' albums.
- Your coworker
Do you remember what happens at the end of that Tyler Perry movie? No, not that one. The other one. You know, the one where the guy dresses up like a fat, old, stereotype? No, not the one with Eddie Murphy. Yeah, you know the one.
And what are the lyrics to that Taylor Swift song? No, not the one about her ex-boyfriend. The one about her other ex-boyfriend. Yeah, the douchey one. You have that album, don't you? Of course you do. Because it's one of the most awful things to ever bumblefuck into existence. And you're an avid collector of that genre.
Now, I know that my tastes aren't exactly classy (though I will defend my love of cheesy, 90s pop rock to the grave), but...C'MON? T-Swift? T-Perry? T-he Office Season 7? How is it possible for one person to not only endure that much awful, but actually claim to enjoy it without bursting out into fits of uncontrollable laughter/rage??
I'm willing to overlook your fondness for Two and a Half Men, because you're one of 800 million viewers to somehow fall under the trance of mediocre jokes about relationships and child-rearing that didn't already end up on Everybody Loves Raymond. Speaking of which...you still watch Everybody Loves Raymond? Even the cast of Everybody Loves Raymond will turn the channel if it comes on TBS on Sunday afternoons.
Michael Bolton. "Cotton-Eye Joe." Zach Braff movies. Kristen Stewart. NASCAR. Those are my top 5 reasons for wanting to punch you in the decision-making part of your brain.
I mean, don't you ever get the urge to watch a Tarantino movie? Or listen to Simon & Garfunkel? Or...not recite the lyrics to Josh Groban's entire discography? At the very least, stop trying to force those interests onto your coworkers! We will never like them for the same reasons we will never like waking up to find sores on our genitals.
I'll make you a deal: go one shift without starting a sentence with "Here's why country music is so genuine..." and I'll gladly throw away all my Gin Blossoms' albums.
- Your coworker
8/22/2012
Re: Fwd: Fwd: FWD: FWD: Why is kitty so grumpy???
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
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
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