You’re at a meeting at 10 in the morning, and your colleague suddenly pulls out a flask and takes a haul. What do you do?
What does anyone do? None of you on staff in your combined 300+ years of office experience has ever encountered a co-worker flask-nipping in a meeting during normal work hours. Everyone looks at each other with consternation. Brows are knitted furiously. Is someone going to confront this guy about his drinking issues?
But no one has the guts. And so he keeps on doing it, even in meetings with The Big Boss, who is too nonplussed to know what to say. It goes on and on, with the co-worker drinking from his flask at all hours of the day, at his desk, at lunch, before heading home on his donkey-rickshaw (environmentally friendly, you think? Do you have any clue how much methane each mule and donkey produces each year?). He’s such a goofy dude that on those rare occasions when you all get a drink after work, a beer or two doesn’t seem to make him any looser than he seems during a regular day at the office. But generally speaking, beside his taking regular hauls off the flask and following up with flamboyant, Doc Holliday-esque tubercular coughing fits as he chokes down the liquid, the slugging doesn’t seem to negatively affect his performance. There are even clandestine sobriety tests, as office mates drop papers in front of him to see if he’ll stumble when helping to pick them up. He doesn’t.
The colleague dies one day and his desk is cleaned out, whereupon the flask, hidden in his bottom drawer, empty, is available to be analyzed. Advanced assays are run, whereupon it’s discovered that there is no sign of moonshine inside the flask, but instead ultra high-test French roast coffee (cold brew).
If you're willing to play the flask nipper, I'll outfit you with the means of surreptitiously recording people's reactions at your office job. It'll be a riot! Then, we'll project the recordings onto the west side of my house from dusk to dawn every day so that people walking down the street after dark will be treated to performance art.
Howard is always good for an original slogan, and no slogan is better than his very own “I’m Gooey for Yooey.” This was a saying that he conceived of in 2013 (or maybe he conceived it in 2012 and by the time its nine months of gestation were completed, it was 2013, you think cheekily), to celebrate the year that unhittable Red Sox closer Koji Uehara had. 2013 was a year known for its lackluster sloganeering, so if it weren’t for Howard and “I’m Gooey for Yooey,” we would have all lived through that year without a single world-class slogan being published. Basically, the world owes Howard a huge debt of gratitude.
But like all of slogans, “I’m Gooey for Yooey” was a darling of critics and cult fans of slogans, but failed to catch on with the shallow public and the Japanese media. So now, with the passage of time revealing just how awesome the slogan was, Howard has decided reprise it for the 2016 playoffs.
I’ve contacted all my Japanese media friends and have asked them to cover game 3 of the ALDS, just in case Koji is brought in in relief.
After months of silent neutrality, I’m happy to report that this website is finally endorsing Tim for Register of Deeds. I believe Tim is among the most qualified people for this job. He knows as much about deeds as the next guy, certainly as much as you do.
Sorry if I insulted you, but I’m just reporting fact. Examine your own conscience and then tell me that you’d be better at registering deeds than Tim. Or else tell me what your big skill or talent is vis-à-vis deeds. Just what I thought – nothing.
To answer the obvious question in your mind, yes I know a thing or two about deeds. But I don’t endorse myself for the job because, truth be told, I’m really busy and can’t be bothered to register people’s deeds. However, I’m not too busy to suggest a change in the job title. I think “Registerer of Deeds” sounds more grammatically correct, or maybe “Registrar of Deeds.” Perhaps we need a grammarian to weigh in.
Do you have any deeds that need registering? If yes, contact Tim.
When I announce my retirement at the end of some future season, I expect to be treated to a farewell tour along the lines of Big Papi’s. All my opponents at work will be forced to have special ceremonies honoring me, making light of our fierce battles. They’ll show a cell-phone video of me tearing up an expense voucher in the heat of the moment, and then will present me with the voucher taped back together, signed on the back by all the team members from the opposing department, embossed with some clever phrase like “Don’t go to pieces when you retire!”
Some other department will give me a life-size Lego sculpture of myself sitting at my workstation, poised to tap out subtly biting emails for which I developed a well-known reputation. Donations will be made to my very own charity (to hell with yours and all the other charities out there!). It’s like I died or something. Look, I’m just retiring, OK?
Here’s the sad part: I won’t be able to walk away at the top of my game like Big Papi is doing. I’ll always want to work another year, mainly because I’m getting paid a little less than Papi’s $16 million per year, so even if my feet hurt and I can’t sprint to meetings, I can’t just stop working.
The end is always ugly, unless you’re Papi.