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{Sunday, May 27, 2007}

 
How The Workers Are Enticed

by Stevarino 4:33 PM




{Saturday, May 19, 2007}

 
The Incredible Hulk suffers from bulimia

by Stevarino 2:54 PM


 
(off in my head)

What's that, Mr. Jacobs? Third quarter earnings? Yes, sorry. I wasn't paying attention. I must have been off in my head. I was imagining I was at the beach with my old ex-girlfriend Cyndy. She's the one who died because I was too much of a pussy to pull her out of a burning building. How's that? Yes, I'll get to the new memo folder covers in a moment. First I want to tell you about my ex-wife Jacquelyn and our son Tyler. He was stillborn. The doctors said it wasn't our fault, but I know better. Tyler died because God hates me. It's true. Jacquelyn killed herself less than a month after Tyler's death. She took a whole bottle of sleeping pills. I blame myself, of course. When I saw that CVS was having a sale on sleeping pills, I just had to stock up. Jackie's in a better place, I suppose. And I sleep like a baby, thanks to those pills. Not that I would know how a baby sleeps, seeing as how mine is dead.

Come again, sir? No, I don't know how the new hard drive got re-formatted. It certainly wasn't me. The only time I use my computer is to play solitaire. Or sometimes to open emails. My friend Bill sent me one last week. I didn't open it right away. I figured it was just another bunch of golf jokes. Bill cracks me up. How was I to know Bill was emailing me his suicide note? I could have saved him if I had opened it and sent him a text message on my Blackberry. Too late, I guess.

Anyway, I apologize, Mr. Jacobs. I'll get back on task real soon. What's that? What did you just say? I'm fired? Well, Mr. Jacobs, that's too bad. It's too bad I put mercury in the water cooler. And took the fuses out of the air handler. That's why the A/C doesn't work. Hot in here, right? Been drinking lots of water. Water with mercury in it.

You will all die.

by Stevarino 2:42 PM


 
off in my head

by Fred 1:23 PM




{Monday, May 14, 2007}

 
There are things to be said for it. They aren't very common things, but they will do.
You can't staple it to your finger. I mean, people try, but they don't succeed. It wiggles, in an odd sort of way, one which is really just a trick of the light. It's hard to convince oneself that the wiggling isn't real, though.
You can find it in many fine stores. Not stores near you, probably, but fine ones, nonetheless. Maybe, the reason they're so fine...
But I digress.
It lubricates. Anything. It repels water, and repulses parking maids. It does it all, but it does it in a very unpleasant way. You don't want details, but if you just have nothing to do this afternoon, check out our ad in Myrtle Beach Chronicles of Sex and Houseware. It's gross. There's pictures.
You can even cut a tin can with it! If you've got too many cans! And time! You Loser!

by MisterNihil 1:36 PM


 
Smile, You Shrimpy Pill!

by MisterNihil 12:58 PM




{Saturday, May 05, 2007}

 
Do you want me to love you or do you just want to be loved?

by Stevarino 3:13 PM


 
I was out of staples. I'd been in the office all weekend. We were gearing up for a huge PR blitz. The deal was to hand out free toasters to everyone who signed up for one of our fraudulent high interest credit cards. What they didn't know was that each toaster came equipped with a tiny hard drive which functioned as a data logger. We would spy on people, learn where they went, what TV shows they liked, how often they made love. Then we could use this information to sell them things.

I went to the supply cabinet looking for staples. It was locked. Damn Rollins! He was in charge of supplies, the bastard. I hated him. He never worked on weekends. He always took an hour and a half lunch. At meetings he'd compliment the boss on her nails. That bitch was forever getting her nails done. I needed staples. I had to staple together 3000 more press kits or I'd have to spend all of Monday in the barrel. Believe me, you don't want to be forced to go to the barrel. That's worse than losing the Special Olympics.

I used my pocketknife to pry open the door. I fucked up the hinges and the hasp. I didn't care. I yanked on the door and it flew open. Rollins jumped out. He'd been hiding in there, waiting for me. He took out a staple gun and shot staples in my eyes, blinding me. The pain was incredible. Then Rollins threw me down on the table and stapled my ears to it. He pulled my arms down to my sides and stapled the webbing of my fingers to the table. He stapled my clothes to it so I couldn't get up.

Clack clack "AAAHHH!" That was the noise the stapler made, and the sound of my frantic screams. Rollins was totally silent. He was totally silent as he doused me in gasoline and lit me on fire. The boss lady would come in Monday to scrape up my ashes so they'd be trapped under her fake nails. Thus she would own my soul in the afterlife.

I hate my job.

by Stevarino 3:01 PM



 

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