by Stephen Johnson
(originally posted on 08/23/2011)
MoTW—The Pom Pom Girls
For those new to this column, my name is Stephen Johnson. I am the……………
What the hell am I here? I have never been given a title. Bob has a title, so why don’t I have a title?
I wonder if there’s meetings going on at the corporate office, meeting I haven’t been invited to. Maybe Bob and his stumpy legs walked into corporate and he demanded a meeting so he could have a title, something he could flaunt. They probably gave him a certificate with the title so he could hang it on the wall of his bathroom and gloat to his friends that he has a tiele AND a certificate to prove it.
I would go to corporate and demand a title but they keep moving without telling me where the new office is located. This is probably due to the 2011 Christmas party when everyone got sick, supposedly from snacks I had made. Or maybe it was the bengal tiger that I brought in, just for show. I can’t help that it got loose due to some drunken idiot unlocking the cage. I also can’t help that the tiger mauled most of the office staff. I definitely can’t help that I was the drunken idiot that let it loose because I was drunk and that’s what drunks do.
Of course I apologized after all the mauling was over with and I even offered to buy everyone new clothes as long as they could prove that their tattered clothing was caused by a rampaging tiger with really long and really sharp claws. Not everyone could give me proof and most were pointing to the deep scratches covering their bodies. I explained that I couldn’t replace skin and that they could have scratched themselves just to get some pity from me.
As for the food, so what? Sour cream has a a tendency to go bad if left at room temperature for a few days. Alcohol would have fought the bad sour cream and everything would have been fine, but the people that got sick didn’t drink enough alcohol to combat the rotten sour cream. That wasn’t my fault. It’s a Christmas party for crying out loud. Everyone should have been completely drunk.
Two little things go wrong and I’m no longer in the loop. I’m no longer welcome to hang with or even converse with theweirdcrap.com staff. That’s probably why nobody from corporate has welcomed me to Facebook.
Corporate loves Bob so much that they allow him to re-post something he wrote 50 years ago because he claims that he has nothing new to write because his “well has run dry”. Oh, and he blames it on a lack of alcohol which he didn’t seem to have at the 2011 Christmas party.
I want a title.
I want to know where corporate is located so I can get my damn title.
Oh, and do you want to know who the first person was that posted on my new Facebook account?
Just to rub his title in. It doesn’t seem like he is, but if you read between the lines, it’s there. What a bastard.
COMING NEXT: Title smitle litle fitle witle