Farking Iceholes

Here at the Company, we are in the business of making phone calls. It’s something we do. Most of the time, this goes well for us, but every now and then…something magical can happen. There are people in the world who are so full of Joie de Vivre that they react to a simple phone call with venomous vitriol. This is one such tale.

We recently did a marketing dialout, something we’re somewhat good at. Suave left his name on the message, and we got some immediate responses. Our phone lines were hoppin’ like a frog convention, so some callers had to put up with voicemail. Normally, this would be a bad thing…but today it’s opened the door for comedy gold.

One such caller left a 1:43 second monologue laced with more expletives than a hot tub party in heaven with George Carlin, Red Foxx, and Richard Pryor. It was redolent of Roman Moronie, a finely woven tapestry of profanity (though without the clever replacement words). Bail out now if you’re allergic to F-bombs.

“Hello, you cocksucker, Suave. You mother fuckhead. You fucking dickhead cocksucker. Fuck you in the ass, you slimy sleazy sonofabitch! You fuckwad.” This is just the opener. It rolled on for 1:43. Nestled deep within it was the point of the call.

“Don’t you ever call me again you Suavefucker asshole.” It continued on, a voicemail that I wished I could frame. Like a glacier, it ground everything beneath a moving wall of profanities.

Needless to say, it resulted in gales of laughter. We replayed it over and over, like giggling schoolboys just hearing Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television for the first time. (That’s 2 Carlin references, boys and girls.) It was beyond "FTW." It was DRATW.

Ironically, he left no phone number. We don’t know who he was…and I really hope we call him again. It’s always good to have laughter in the workplace.

Weather it Shakes

Today's exciting tale is from The Company.

Imagine the scene...it was two years ago, and a small tornado had spun up the night before, doing some F1 damage about a block from our office. It dominated our morning conversation...VIolet was discussing some family member of hers visiting from California, who had a freak out attack about the twister, thinking she was going to die. Or maybe she was just afraid of munchkins...we'll never know. Well, the conversation turned to whether we'd rather live in Ohio, land of the tornado, or California, land of the earthquake.

Me: "I'd take here. You can pretty well get away from a tornado if you need to...they're relatively small, whereas an earthquake has sort of an area affect."
Voodoo: "Yeah, that's true." (Voodoo lived through the San Fran '89 quake, and so has feelings on the subject"
VIolet: "What weather goes with an earthquake? Isn't it usually raining in an earthquake?"
Me and Voodoo: Blank stares

They say truth is stranger than fiction...maybe they've met VIolet.

Twelve Inches of Fun

It was a very interesting day at the Company. It began as all days do: coffee at the desk, sales calls in progress. I was jarred from my routine when Faceman called out from shipping, “Come here and look at this!”…which some would immediately assume is a safe endeavour, but you must understand that I’m perfectly serious when I say that the last time he did so, there was a used tampon in the hallway. With no females around. But that, as they say, is another story.

Today’s excitement was decidedly less disgusting, at least to most of us. Violet, our receptionist,is not so certain. Trebec, give us the lead in. "The category…strange things on the floor."

“Answer. 12 inches long and laying on the carpet.”

The question is actually “What is a snake?” but I’m sure you had some good ones.

Thank you, Alex.

Yes, there staring at us and coiling to strike, was a brown and black joy shaking his tail at us, bargaining that at least one of us would be stricken with fear. Unfortunately for our friend the snake, none of us were A) fooled into thinking he was a rattler B) unconvinced that he was a cute baby snake C) an archeologist wearing a fedora.

I’m not exactly certain what the little guy was doing in the shipping area, but I found it interesting that “CANCUUN” was typed into the UPS software as a destination. Given that tiny snakes have no fingers with which to type, and in fact possess no limbs at all, I began to suspect an accomplice. An accomplice with bad spelling.

We grabbed a pickle jar that wasn’t just convenient to the story, but also conveniently on hand, and Faceman performed a skillful and daring capture that didn’t involve sticking a thumb in its ass. Take that, Steve Irwin’s Ghost.

Taking the captured serpent to my desk, I did some quick google searching and discovered our little friend is a Fox Snake. So named, supposedly, not because they eat foxes, but because they smell like fox. Having never smelled a fox, I am going to have to take this on faith. Also, given his internment in a condo-by-Vlasic, I think he might have to be renamed to a Kosher Dill Snake.

One might be amazed by my work environment. Allow me to truly introduce VIolet, with a direct quote.
VIolet: “Should we check the shipping area? Maybe he laid some eggs”
Me, after I stopped laughing: “I’m sorry, but this time I am in fact laughing AT, not WITH.”
VI: “Well I don’t know how snakes work!”

Fear not, you’ll get to know her in other stories.

VI: “Is he going to get out? Does he look mad?”
Well, I don’t think he’s getting out of the screw-top jar, given that aforementioned lack of opposable thumbs, but he is wily, and managed to type CANCUUN…so perhaps we’re looking at the Dr. Evil of snakes here. As for looking mad…I’ve noticed that snakes kind of have a blank expression. Like they’re contemplating something…pocket aces? Your impending doom? Tasty baby mice? But they never have a mad face. Or a happy face. If a snake face could be personified into a simple statement, that statement would be “Meh.”

Well, rather than have a new mascot, I’m going to release this little guy back into the wild. If he comes back and actually manages to ship himself to Cancuun, I will be impressed. In fact, I will be so impressed that I will not alert the authorities in Mexico…if he pulls it off, he deserves to be the new serpentine overlord of the Tropical Resort. I’m looking at 2014 to book my vacation at Fox’s Limbless Paradise.