Workplace blues

The workplace is too boring. Somebody should do something to fix that. After all, most of us spend 8 hours per day at work. We're there to work, naturally, but we shouldn't have to be bored all the time. Work is so boring that we get excited over things that shouldn't excite us, like Casual Fridays. What's the big treat? Ooh. It's Friday. Today I get to dress how I... normally do! Is this something to get excited about? Something to celebrate? Screw casual. I think you should be able to dress up as your favorite super-hero. I'd go as Professor Xavier from the X-Men. He uses a wheelchair, so I'd finally be able to park in the handicap parking! Two birds, one stone. And just think, all the women would have to come as Wonder Women and Catgirls. Tie your magic lasso around this, baby.

Speaking of parking, how about the employee-of-the-month parking spot? This really gets our blood flowing. How exciting! A parking space closer to the time-clock so we can start our workday even earlier. This is how bored we are at work. We're willing to slit each other's throats for the privilege of 1 month's covered parking. And our employers grant us the parking space so magnanimously. Congratulations on an incredibly productive month, LBB. We really appreciate your efforts here. So for the rest of this month, you can park in the EOTM lot.

Gee, thanks. I slave away in my cubicle like Kunta Kinte and you give me my very own parking space? You're a regular Mother Theresa. I hope the plumber gives you the clap by way of your wife's cooter.

Here's another hallmark of workplace boredom: the frenzy over bagels. Bagels! Somebody brings a bag of bagels and it's the Second Coming and a Pearl Jam concert mixed into one groovy breakroom bash. Around 0830, you'd swear bagels cured cancer. But by noon, they evidently cause impotence. Nobody touches a bagel after 10. They become radioactive. Usually that one with the chunks of onion and garlic is the unloved orphan. But in the early morning, those bagels are like ambrosia. You know you're in an environment of depravity when a bag of rounded bread causes a stampede. Oh, somebody brought bagels. There's bagels. Oh my God. Tell me there's some cream cheese for these bagels. Hey, no fair! Who ate the poppy seeded one?

That may be the most salient statement on workplace indignity: we're willing to trade our honor for an extra bagel. Indeed, there is no honor among bagels. We'll grab a second poppy seed bagel and leave our closest friend, ally and comrade with the garlic-and-onion plutonium bagel, even though he hasn't had a chance to eat his first one yet. Too bad, Chuck. You should have gotten here earlier instead of taking care of that customer. Better luck at lunchtime. I hear Suzie's bringing a crock pot of weenies.

Here's a trend that's catching on: workplace massages. Employers are hiring massage therapists to visit the office and chair-massage the staff (Insert “happy ending” joke here. Get it -- staff?) The only happy ending I know about happens at 5 o'clock. That's when I take my stale bagel, walk to my covered parking lot and get the fuck outta there. Damn, I forgot my dignity in my cubicle!

We should try to have more fun at work. Maybe then our employers wouldn't be able to hold bagels and parking spaces over our heads and make us dance like dogs.


Hurricane + Newscaster = Entertainment

I love hurricane season. Why? Because some ratings-whore newscaster will stand in the hurricane's path and broadcast as the storm makes landfall. I like to watch the broadcast. But not because I'm concerned for anybody’s well-being, nor because I'm interested in meteorology. I watch because there's a chance the hurricane might blow the ratings-whore newscaster away. I figure that's comeuppance for someone who deliberately stands in a hurricane. When the hurricane blows him into the ocean or into some high-voltage power lines or into a cactus patch, I’d watch on TV and laugh from the comfort of my own living room.

Last season, Geraldo reported 3 or 4 different hurricanes -- on location, live. I hung on every word. I watched and prayed. I asked God to make the storm pick up Geraldo by that big mustache of his and deposit him somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. And if God could swing it, I asked Him that there be sharks present and that He coat Geraldo in A-1 Steak Sauce. Do you suppose sharks like Mexican food? If so, they’d love Geraldo. I figure that mustache of his would make a great wind sail. It could blow his ass up to 15,000 feet. We could name the hurricane “Hurricane Geraldo.”

Why do reporters have to stand in the middle of a hurricane, anyway? Do they think we won't believe them otherwise? I’ll take your word for it, Walter Cronkite. You don’t have to ram your Ford Taurus into a school bus to report a traffic accident. Why broadcast in the path of a hurricane? If I were a reporter, I'd stand inside a brick building and point to the radar screen. Better yet, I'd fly to the West Coast and broadcast from Palm Beach. Let the weather satellite do the dirty work. Viewers could reference the satellite image to appreciate the hurricane. My word should be good enough. If you still don't buy the hurricane story, then tough turds on you. You can go down to Florida and ride the wind with Captain Mustache.


If it were a snake, I should hope it was venomous

A bit on the expression “If it were a snake it would have bitten me.”

How do you know what the snake would do? A snake has options. Maybe it would just rattle its tail. Maybe it would hold perfectly still and hope you don't see it. Or, maybe the snake would tell you that you're blocking his sunlight and to move your big ass out of the way. Then again, maybe it would slither away and think, I'm getting the fuck outta here 'cause this bitch is annoying. I wish I had hands so I could give her the finger.

In fact, unless you're a small woodland animal or a toad, the snake probably doesn't give a damn what you're looking for. Just leave the snake out of it.


More points

  • You know what would make graduation ceremonies more interesting? If they stuck arrowheads in the corners of the little graduation caps. Then you'd have 300 ninja throwing stars hurling into the air at once. That would thin out the competition for grad school!
  • Some people never exceed the speed limit. They say it's against the law. So then you don't fuck your wife in the ass then, right? It's against the law in many states. Douchebag.
  • Do nocturnal animals pop a morning boner?
  • People ask whether I'd rather see a sunrise or a sunset. I tell them it depends whether it's a day off of work or not. Then they say, no, which one do you think is prettier? Then I say, well, which one do you prefer, doggy style or cowgirl? See, it's hard to choose stuff like that.
  • If you took a deck of bachelor party naked lady playing cards and placed it on the Bible, would they catch on fire? I hope not, because I want my Bible's bookmark to be the ace of hearts. She's really stacked.
  • I wonder what a 3-bedroom/2-bath goes for in Food City.
  • People say you can't appreciate something unless you work for it. I'm not so sure. Nothing tastes better than free beer. Nothing is more exciting than winning money at the casino or in the stock market. Nothing feels better than free love and nothing delights more than free samples at Costco. As a rule, the harder you have to work for something, the greater the disappointment. Any college graduates want to second that?
  • Houseflies have only a few ways to die. They can catch the business end of a fly-swatter. They can fly into a spider's web. Or they can land in a venus flytrap. I'll bet flies say to each other, “Damn, I wish I could just develop cancer or have a heart attack or something.”
  • I was going to buy a motorcycle, but instead, I just had my mechanic install an airbag made of asphalt.
  • I don't understand the appeal of chocolate covered insects. You've already got chocolate. Why ruin it? I'm not saying chocolate covered insects taste bad. But there's no way the insects taste as good as the chocolate they displace. They may taste good -- but not as good as chocolate. Except the fruit fly. Fruit fly chocolate. That sounds like heaven. All right, I'll give you fruit fly chocolate. That's probably delicious. Hey, do you think the dung beetle was the inspiration behind chocolate covered insects? All I know is, the insect must be pissed when you eat him. He probably thought he hit the mother lode when somebody covered him in chocolate. Think how hard an insect works just to find a bread crumb. But now he's swimming in chocolate. Jackpot, baby. No, he's not dead when they cover him. He'd dehydrate and fall apart. What, are you telling me they have insect slaughterhouses? Hell no. It's not like they can step on them or spray them with poison. Who'd eat that? Those little suckers are sealed alive in a tomb of chocolate -- like Hon Solo in Empire Strikes Back. Anyway, chocolate covered insects are a silly idea.
  • Why don't motorcycles have a tie-around-your-ankle thingy like surfboards? That way you wouldn't lose your bike in a crash. Think about those motorcycle gangs where there's like a hundred guys all riding choppers. Imagine if a truck full of ball-bearings crashed in front of them, or marbles or something. Pure chaos! Everybody would be confused over whose bike was whose. With the ankle-tie, it would be a cinch to identify the bodies.
  • You know who must be busy? The guy who does tire rotations for 18-wheelers. That must take all day. Plus, how do you keep track of 18 wheels? Let's see, 5 goes to 12. Eight goes to 9. Thriteen goes back to 2. Ah shit, which one of these was the spare again...
  • God instilled in us a powerful sex drive to ensure procreation. But if that's what He wanted, why didn't He just make it so we get pregnant when we masturbate? We'd have an earth full of mofos in no time.
  • I was at a restaurant and the waiter kept pushing the wine list. I was like, “Dude, I ordered a #4 Combo with extra rice. Do you really think I'm interested in a '92 cabernet?” Do you have Boone's Farm on that list?
  • When you're hungry, your stomach growls. How come when you're horny, your dick doesn't sing a tune or something?



  • Here's the difference between clever and genius. A clever man coined the phrase “Whoever smelt it, dealt it.” But it took a genius to retort “Whoever denied it, supplied it.” Sheer brilliance. I wonder if that second guy blogs.
  • What's with that lackadaisical, fly-swatting gesture drunks do when police shine their flashlights on them in COPS? Do they see a flying insect in their drunken minds or something? I'd like to gather 12 of those drunkards into a racketball court and see how well they could play handball.
  • If doctors treated their patients the way the Fed treated the economy, they'd treat respiratory failure with a choke-hold and priapism with a cock-punch.
  • I think it would be cool if cars had flight sticks instead of steering wheels. I wonder why they don't do that. Probably because they'd have to reprint thousands of driver's-ed pamphlets with the “hands at 10 and 2 o'clock position.” Plus, in a collision you'd rack yourself something fierce.
  • Why don't they coat roadways and rooftops with Teflon?
  • The Discovery Channel is the crack pipe of cable programming. Everybody who channel surfs comes to an abrupt halt at TDC. I went surfing the other night and wound up watching a 2-hour special on the manufacturing of plastic. I hung on every word. When it was over, I aroused from my trance in a puddle of my own drool.
  • Why is history class so boring and the History Channel so cool? They should make history classes that show film strips of the History Channel all semester long. Maybe then high school kids would learn that the First Amendment doesn't just guarantee Fitty the right to sell his CDs at WalMart.
  • If I were rich, I'd buy 52 week-long timeshares -- all at the same place. Then every Monday morning, I'd wake up, look into the mirror and say, “Get outta my house, fucker. This is my week and I'm not sharing with anybody.” Then I'd laugh at the irony and get drunk with myself.
  • I wonder about all these “junior” hamburgers. You've got the Whopper Junior. Wendy's has a “junior” single. Carl's Jr. has a junior burger -- by the way, wouldn't that burger be Carl's Burger the Third? Who's ordering these junior burgers? If you can't handle 4 oz. of pre-cooked hamburger meat, you don't really want a hamburger.
  • Every year several people die in train accidents because cars maneuver around the crossing gates. Why do they separate cars from trains with what amounts to a giant, illuminated tooth pick. Shouldn't they use more than a wooden stick? I think a brick wall should pop out of the ground. Or one of those crane electromagnets like you see at the junkyard.
  • You know those tee shirts pregnant women wear that read “Baby” and they have an arrow pointing down to their stomach. They're really cute. When my wife was pregnant, I always wanted to wear a tee shirt that has an arrow pointing down and reads “Baby Maker.” And then on the back of the shirt, it would read “The blood test removed all doubt.”
  • What kind of prize is a reserved parking spot for “employee of the month?” Here's a parking spot close to the door so you can get to work even earlier. Gee, thanks. How about something cool for employee of the month, like being able to come to work drunk? If I ever get employee of the month, I want my own bathroom stall -- with a glory hole.
  • Everyone advises us to save and invest our money for the future. This is poor counsel. The entire world has designs on your savings. The taxman wants to loot it. The stock market wants to dive-bomb it. The tort lawyers want to sue it out of your wallet. And if anything is left over, the auto mechanic wants to ring it out of you. But there's one thing nobody can take away: a good time. So if you're one of the lucky few who has a few dollars left over at the end of the week, spend it. It'll be the best investment you make.


On the cutting room floor

I write a lot of stuff and then decide which of it I should post to my Snoop Bloggy Blog. Here's a collection of stuff that didn't make the cut. I've gathered it together and posted it here. It's very similar to how Wendy's makes chili by using all the throw-away hamburger meat. Bon appetit...

The inner-voice

Have you noticed that the only time you're comfortable talking to yourself is when you're driving? I talk to myself while I'm driving, but I have to admit they're not the most elevated conversations.

“Hmm. I could really use a burger right now. I think I’ll hit the Carl’s Jr. on Broadway.”

“If you take yourself to fast food one more time I’m going to enter into a murder-suicide pact with the guy in the mirror. Douche bag.”

Imagine talking to yourself in the grocery line. “Look at this idiot. It clearly says 8 or less items.” “Ewww! He’s this fat bastard is buying hemorrhoid cream. I’d hate to be his index finger.” “Ah, come on! Who puts canned peaches on a Visa?”

A guy could get into a fight easily if he talked to himself in the grocery line.


Have you ever written something, forgotten about and then read it years later? It gives you the same feeling as when you're singing along to the CD player when it suddenly craps out, and all you hear is your own voice. Yikes! Or when you catch a glimpse of yourself wearing running shorts in a security camera television.

Employees must wash hands, come to terms with reality

It reassures me to see the “employees must wash hands before returning to work” sign on the back side of the restroom door. But I see a missed opportunity. As long as they’ve got the employees' attention, why not remind them “employees must remember not to screw drive-thru customers out of their fries?” Or how about, “if you wouldn't have majored in Anthropology, you wouldn't be flipping' burgers. Now grab a mop, McIndiana Jones.”

My proctologist needs a stool sample, but I don't give a shit.

If it's free, it's crap

Whenever I complain about Blogger's crappy service, somebody points out that it's free. Well, so is having sex with me. But I try to do a decent job at least. Jeez!

"Hey, LBB can you not punch me in the back of the head when you do me from behind?"

"Hey, quit complaining. I'm doing you for free."

The latest fashion

Why do fashions make a comeback every twenty years? It's like we all get together and say, "Hey, this wasn't that stupid. In fact, it was pretty cool." Then we wear it for a few months and think, "You know, this was pretty gay. I no longer wish to be a member of Member's Only."

Dear God

I realized God has a sense of humor when I noticed that every time I prayed to win the lottery, the next day I got a jury summons in the mail.

Super duper glue

Super glue now comes in different formulas. You can buy one for wood, plastic, cement, wood-on-cement, plastic-on-glass. Or you can buy the one I keep buying on accident -- index-finger-on-middle finger. Finger fusion formula seems to be the only one that works. The things I'm trying to stick together won't hold for 30 seconds, but once I glue my fingers together I can't separate them with battery acid and a blow torch.

Men and women, ups and downs

I know men and women have different preferences for the toilet seat's stand-by position. I'm open-minded about the debate. But something bothers me. I've asked women why it's so important to leave the toilet seat down, and several of them have told me that if it isn't down, they'll accidentally sit on it and FALL IN! These women weren't kidding. According to women, falling in is a risk of leaving the seat up.


Here’s some advice: Inspect any area upon which you plan to place your ass. I'm not a type-A personality, nor do I suffer from obsessive/compulsive neurosis. Nevertheless, I always check conditions before I put my ass anywhere. It just makes sense. A precursory assay of the thing you plan to use for a seat is necessary to avoid injury, embarrassment, and foreign bodies accidentally lodged in the rectum.

Unless you're Hellen Keller or as drunk as Ted Kennedy at a martini-tasting contest, it shouldn't matter whether the toilet seat is up or down.

Incidentally, why do commercials tell you about the designs on toilet paper? You wipe your ass with it. Does it really need to be pretty? I don't care what it looks like, as long as it doesn’t contain any sandpaper, fiberglass or jalapeno.

It's a lifesaver

Do you realize that someday, somebody's going to shoot somebody and the bullet is going to hit the victim in a pack of Life Savers candy he has in his pocket, and the Life Savers will actually have saved his life! I can't wait for that to happen because it'll be really cool and plus they can make it into a great commercial for Life Savers. Unless the bullet is strong enough to go through, in which case it'll just be ironic.


Un-necessity is the mother of anger

Problems don't anger us. Unnecessary problems do. I think that's why so many of us today are so angry. We fabricate a huge amount of unnecessary bullshit. In the good ole days, our problems were necessary and unavoidable. You couldn't control the weather that led to the Great Dust Bowl of the 1930s. Nobody could prevent tyrants like Stalin and Hitler (although you could kill them, thank God). You couldn't stop small pox or polio or the clap. You just had to tough it up. And things were tough, all right. But they were tough out of necessity, so nobody got angry.

The infuriating thing about today's problems is that they're preventable. Here's one example. Microsoft Word. Have you ever formated a document, deleted a portion of it, and then realized that MS Word “remembers” what you were trying to do, so it insists on imposing that format on your new writing? Then is starts doing all this weird shit to you document that you never asked for in the first place. It changes fonts, forces indenting, moves bullet marks. Stop trying to help me, MS Word. Don't try to read my mind. Just print what I type, where I type it. Then I can stop sending hate-mail to Microsoft and redirect my venom to Steve Jobs, that pothead.

Typing a resume in MS Word is like getting your dick caught in your zipper. You realize that a little temporary stupidity on your part is going to lead to 10 times the pain and anguish you deserve. That's what using MS Word is like. Or, it's like that girl who insists on “helping” you fuck her. Hold still, bitch. Jeez. I've been doing this since I was 16. I don't need help. In fact, most of the times I do this, I do it all by myself.

Enough about MS Word. Here's another example of how we make things more difficult than they have to be. Have you ever opened a bottle of antifreeze, cleaning agent or some other poisonous substance? What do you find? A safety seal! What is the manufacturer worried about? I'm not going to drink this stuff. Are they afraid somebody will poison it? It's already poison. And even if somebody makes it more poisonous, I'm not going to drink it, anyway. Stop making us peel off useless safety seals. And if you must continue this contemptible practice, then at least make the seal rip off with one tear. It's like they perforate the thing down the middle or something.

Why do you think driving is so aggravating? Because many roadway pitfalls are preventable. Red lights are an obstacle to every destination. But nobody gets angry at a red light because we all understand they're necessary for safe, orderly driving. But when we catch a red light because some dipship in the left lane was window shopping strip malls, we naturally feel the urge to shoot somebody. If everybody drove the speed limit, maintained their lane, respected the right of way and refused to yield to pedestrians and bicyclists, we'd have peace and harmony on the roadways. A man can dream.

Sometimes I think we have a deep, psychological need to make things more complicated than they have to be. Here's an example: Sex. It's fun. It's wonderful. It's the Great Motivator. But it's not complicated stuff, contrary to the 17,000 sex guides, tapes, books and seminars. We've gone and complicated the easiest thing on the planet. Twenty billion of us lived, procreated and died before the first “How to Please Your Man in Bed” article appeared in Cosmopolitan Magazine.

What's the mystery? You want great sex? I'll tell you how. Step one: get a partner! Step two: insert here. Step three: withdraw. Step four: repeat as necessary. Just because you're blowing a load doesn't mean you need a degree in fluid mechanics. It's sex, people. If it weren't simple, we wouldn't be here.

All the human race shares two opposing traits: the love of simplicity, and the instinct to complicate the simple things -- proof that God has a sense of humor.


Holy freggin Jeez!

Readers of my last post, below, will notice a musing with the term "Johnson Wax" in it, vis a vis Glade Plug-ins.

I can't believe I missed the opportunity. I typed "Johnson Wax" and didn't catch the innuendo. I hope I'm not losing my touch. A year ago that would have never slipped by me.

So let me make things right.


"Speaking of Johnson Wax, isn't "Johnson Wax" a good phrase for male ejaculate?"


A muse by any other name

  • Almost everybody hates people who drive and talk on their cell phones at the same time. Many people support tough traffic statutes prohibiting this practice. This is folly. Let me assure you the cell phone user is a crappy driver whether he's on the phone or not. I mean, it's a cinch the soccer mom swerving the SUV into your lane isn't going to become Mario Andretti when she hangs up. In fact, now that she's no longer distracted with making her next hair appointment, she can give 100% of her effort to being a road-hog cunt.
  • I apologize for my crass language, above. Would you hyphenate “road hog?”
  • Some people are seers. They need to get out and see new and exciting things. They vacation in exotic locations and create little adventures for themselves. These people think life is a Mountain Dew commercial. I hope these people's parachutes fail when they're cave-diving in Fiji. That'll teach them. And I'll laugh my ass off when I watch them plummet on the Travel Channel. Myself, I'm a feeler. I like to feel good. I don't need to travel anywhere to feel good. All I need is my couch, a good meal, some hooch, the television and some occasional cooter on my face.
  • When you think about it, the purpose of a cruise ship is to bamboozle the passengers into thinking they're still on land. Screw the boat. They should put you on a big, rocking strip mall with a buffet, a movie theater, a live band and shuffleboard. A “cruise” would cost $59 per person and you wouldn't need to practice the fire drill.
  • Just as it's always darkest before the dawn, so is resistance to an idea greatest before acceptance. Example: Eminem. Remember the good ole days when we all hated Eminem, back when he first came out? Then the little bastard makes a movie and suddenly he's Sir Lawrence Olivier with a bad tattoo artist. Here's another example: Glade Plug-ins. Nobody who saw that commercial the first time thought “Gee, what a great idea.” But Johnson Wax kept ramming them down our throats..
  • Mine is not to question why; Mine is but to do and/or make pissy comments about how stupid the entire universe is.