Thursday, July 22, 2010

Too much workday excitement

I was greeted at work this morning with more scowls than I am used to. Not more than I can handle, mind you. I used to work with children, so scowls, tears, and tiny fists have no affect on me (my impervious armor is useful for dealing with both children and women*), but one likes to know the reason behind scowls directed in one's general direction. Fortunately, I was not left to ponder this mystery for long. Sitting down at my desk was like turning to the last page of a whodunnit - everything was perfectly clear to me without straining the eyes or running the risk of paper cuts from turning pages. Unlike most good murder mysteries, however, the culprit was not the butler. If anything, it was actually a lack of a butler that had rendered me about as popular as Jimmy Carter. "Yesterday's soccer socks!" I gasped.
Too late to save Mr. Boddy, I realized it was the socks in the Study with the Candlestick

Still, I like a lack of workplace hostility, so I gathered up my socks and left them in the sun to dry out (That'll teach you to club your host over the head while he's trying to relax!), and then wandered over the the cafeteria to quench my thirst with the best drink known to man, Snapple (surprisingly, Snapple did not pay me to say any of this).

I love the smell of Snapple in the morning. Smells like victory.

"Made from the best stuff on earth!," I tell myself out loud (I got more scowls for this). "No wonder this is so good." With my next sip, I remember that drinking Snapple is not only delicious, but informative, too!

Holy sh*t! No frickin' way!

"No. It can't possibly be true. No way do cats have that many muscles in their ears. This must be some cruel joke by Snapple," I think to myself. Alas, it was a cruel, cruel joke. It was as if they knew me. I snapped out of my incredulous, glassy eyed state only to find that the shock had caused a tragedy easily on par with Mel Gibson's meltdown:

Look, it's like the dead snapple is flipping me off

So I found a quiet corner of my office where I could hide until my tears dried up. Some mornings, it's best to stay home.

*Haha! Just kidding. Women's fists affect me.

1 comment:

  1. Snapple told me I was adopted.

    Clue said the butler did it in the lounge with the lead pipe.

    I pray to various deities every night that these two things are not related.