Wasted Fridays

I have a goddamned office Christmas party to go to today and it just weighs on me… All I can think about is being crammed into the boardroom with all the squares that I do my absolute best to avoid the rest of the year. And there’s no dodging it. A mandatory office party. If we blow it off, we’ll be severely punished. Merry Christmas!

Here’s our official invite, by the way:

The phones will be turned off tomorrow between 12:00 AM to 2:30 PM for staff to attend the Holiday party. Everyone is required to attend the party for at least one hour and half.

Messages from the Great Computer! (And, yes, I plan to hold them to the twelve AM thing and not answer phones all morning.)

And, of course, I’m a pathetic American…so it’s an office Christmas party without booze. And people wonder why there are so many gun deaths in this country. I don’t know…maybe because we’re all stone cold sober, afraid to seek out strange new pussy, and forced like fucking cattle into a dark boardroom to mingle with soulless co-workers who are all one cunt hair away from letting off the pipe bomb they have stashed in their purses.

Whew. Sorry. Maybe I’m bitter. I’m going to start a country where there are no holidays. Just randomly scattered days off that have no meaning or importance.

Anyway…this post is just about directing you to another site, because I fizzled a bit on my writing speed. It’s cold, it’s dark, my family’s in town, my neighbor is dressed like Santa Claus all the fucking time and it scares me. I see him through the window, staring back at me, day or night, and he’s wearing this filthy, tattered Santa Claus outfit.

My friend cheered me up by referring me to a blog maintained by two of his former co-workers — April and Millie.

April and Millie used to work together, in the distant past, at Tower Records with my buddy. Now they’re grown up, responsible adults who probably also suffer through forced office Christmas parties.  Except they have cooler jobs. One works out west, the other on the east coast. The blog is, simply, a catalog of their Google chats. That’s, like, a dime a dozen in the blogosphere, right? Except these chicks are fucking crazy, and hilarious, and I was instantly hooked. So enjoy! I’m at the idiot office party from twelve to two today, so I insist that you, dear reader, do something enjoyable. Send me your happy vibes.

Share

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.