Legit Question

My laptop here at work is literally 7 years old and is pretty dog slow. This is mainly because of my excessive porn collection that has been encrypted and takes up all of my disk space, but whatever.

So I put in a request for a new one recently and have been waiting patiently while simultaneously increasing my encrypted porn collection.

That was, until this morning when I received this from IT:

 Seriously.

I'm not about to go resetting all my passwords for all my work applications, but I'm also a bit hesitant to give this guy my password because, well, it's filthy.

Like, 'sex toy' filthy. But it has special characters and shit in it but the special characters make it look like the sex toy is having relations.

I'm nothing if not creative.

But short of having this guy sign a non-disclosure agreement and submitting himself to a lie detector test, the easier option was to just tell him what the password was. But first I needed to make sure that my password would not find it's way to the hot chick from Human Resources.

By the way, having a hot chick work in HR that you can't hit on is one of the Circles of Hell, I'm pretty sure.

I got this back and then, putting all my trust in Don, replied:

Then I started packing up my stuff because I was pretty sure I was going to be either walked out at any moment, or the HR woman would come and drag me to the lactation room where we would have wild relations.

I live in my own mind.

But, instead, I got this:

PHEW.

Bullet dodged.

Ha. Bullet.

That's a sex toy, too.

I'm being bullied by Apple.

In my cubicle, I have a Mac Powerbook that I use for testing.

Yes, I'm a software quality assurance engineer.

This is exactly why none of your shit works and your computer reboots every 30 seconds.

The Mac has a screen saver that scrolls dictionary words across and then pauses on certain ones. Whenever I happen to look over at it, it's always shit like this:

 

Okay. I suppose that one makes sense.

Next:

I wouldn't say I'm exactly offbeat, but more like, 'peculiar' or 'really muscly and attractive.'

Finally:

It's at this point that I'm thinking the laptop has become self-aware and is actually watching me.

Either that, or my boss programmed it since, you know, I'm typing this at work.

The crazy smiley native guy needs his own talk show

A while ago at work we switched our email from Microsoft Outlook to Google Mail and one of the greatest things about it besides it's distinct lack of usability is that you can modify your profile.

Every week I change my profile picture on my work account.

If you want to see all the profiles I've done thus far, this is place to start a'clicking.

People here have actually seemed to enjoy the changes, so here's some more of what people have been getting to see when they contact me:

I think my favorite is the kid from "Mask" because that's pretty much what I look like prior to coffee.

Extra bonus points if you got "Doug Henning" correct. Also? YOU'RE SO OLD.

I'm changing these up, like, twice a week so if you have any recommendations I'd appreciate it.

Thanks in advance.

Little Ball Sweats

BEFORE I START TODAY:

I have a $50 Amazon Gift Card giveway going on until July 11th at midnight.

Go here to enter: http://t.co/ivP8wAmi4Y

GOOD LUCK!

******************


There comes a time in every man's life when he has to look deep inside himself and although sometimes this requires the use of a pretty big mirror and some really good pre-internal inspection stretching, that man must decide whether or not putting lipstick around his sphincter and posting the pictures on hotornot.com under the pseudonym "The Real Sarah Jessica Parker" are really worth the effort and potential for internal bleeding.

But this is not one of those times because today I'm going to talk about two sweaty guys playing ping pong.

I figured if you've read past the opening paragraph without going 'I AM RIGHT THE HELL OUTTA HERE', then you can stick with a post about ping pong.

I hedge bets.


Just outside the gym at work, is our recreation room which includes a pool table and a ping-pong table.

Why there is no big screen with a stack of porn is beyond me.

My idea of recreation may be different than most people's.

I've digressed.


Regardless...every frigging day there are two assholes who play ping-pong there.

Every day.

EVERY. DAY.

And every day when they're done..they walk into the locker room..

SWEATY.

They're sweaty.

They're sweaty from PLAYING PING PONG.

Yes..the game with the little paddles and shit.


And they're not just a little sweaty...they're wetter than Tila Tequila in a threesome with Jessica Alba and Channing Tatum.

* blink

SOMEONE GET ME THAT TAPE!!


Seriously, though...

They're SOAKED.

Honestly this shouldn't surprise me because anyone who has played the game of ping pong (or it's lesser known table-top inbred-cousing version, "Gnip-Gnop" OMG OMG I'm just realizing that is 'ping pong' SPELLED BACKWARDS...GENIUS!) knows that ping pong requires the utmost in cardiovascular fitness because at times you may be required to MOVE SIDE TO SIDE for up to a foot at a time while simultaneously holding a teeny tiny paddle that weighs a bicep-stressing three ounces and if - by the grace of GOD - you manage to actually figure out how to get that stupid ball over the two inch net without smashing it into the eye of some stupid bystander just coming down there to grab a Pepsi because the soda guy forgot to restock the Diet Pepsi (ASSHOLE) there is a chance that the other guy MIGHT HIT IT BACK to you requiring you to start the entire 'moving one foot, waving one arm' thing ALL OVER AGAIN.

God, I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

But seriously, guys.

It's ping pong.

So I've got little tip for you (that's what he said):

If you get that sweaty playing ping pong, maybe it's about time you PUT THE PADDLES DOWN AND HIT THE GODDAMN TREADMILL INSTEAD.

Just wait til I'm out of the locker room before you come in.

I don't even want to imagine that shit.

Run, Mahatma..RUN!

WARNING: This blog post contains a lot of racial profiling.

You're welcome.

********************
My white sheet is currently at the dry cleaners.

Let me explain.

I don't think it's any secret that I don't like foreign things.

Things like:

1) People who can't speak English

2) People who CAN speak English, but appear to be foreigners

3) Actually, just other people in general. Forget #1 and #2.

4) Champagne glasses in my anus

I wasn't going to include #4, but the hospital report said it was a 'foreign object' so I felt obligated to add it.

On a side note, NEVER use a champagne flute when a shot glass will do.

But I've digressed.


The other day, I walked into the gym at work.

We have three treadmills.

There, on one of the treadmills was one of the guys who works in our tech lab. For the sake of argument, I'll call him "Al."

"Al Qaeda."

He is middle-eastern.
He has the full beard/moustache/"I'm gonna kill you you unholy infidel!" look.

He wears a big, red turban.

Obviously, this tends to catch your eye.

Especially if you're an Air Marshall.

There he was, on the treadmill...

...with that thing cranked up to at least 13 miles an hour.

(For those of you one the metric system, that means "hauling some serious ass" kilometers/hr.)


Now...is it bad of me?

Because all I kept thinking...

...watching this turban-clad middle-eastern guy running full bore on the treadmill was:

"Great. Terrorist in training."

Before you all start calling me a "racist" and "racial profiler" and "hot short guy" and "sexual chocolate," know this:

When the shit comes down, and Al comes running at you at 13 miles per hour with a dirty bomb strapped to his chest, I warned you.

Of course, he could be just trying to get in shape.

Even terrorists get high blood pressure, you know.

Sometimes I don't even know how I can be this odd

Just some random crap that happened the other day at work.

Keep in mind I have no idea how this happens. It just does.

I got an IM from one of our software developers, Randy.

This is how that went:


I particularly like how Randy kind of kept going about what he ACTUALLY wanted to talk about up until the point he had to acknowledge that my pyramid was 'NICE' because I kind of backed him into a corner there.

Then..later that same day...


That is kind of what it's like to work with me.

Must be Hell.

I can't believe no one recognizes Kip Winger any more. OH, HOW THE MIGHTY HAVE FALLEN!

A while ago at work we switched our email from Microsoft Outlook to Google Mail and one of the greatest things about it besides it's distinct lack of usability is that you can modify your profile.

Every week I change my profile picture on my work account.

If you want to see all the profiles I've done thus far, this is place to start a'clicking.

People here have actually seemed to enjoy the changes, so here's some more of what people have been getting to see when they contact me:

I crossed out Joanie because WHAT WAS CHACHI THINKING?!?!?!

The guy just above Kip Winger there came up in the search for "creepy guy pictures" and I think that picture pretty much NAILS IT.

I had a couple of people come up to me at work when I had the Kip Winger one and go, "Who is that? Bon Jovi?"

No. No it's NOT BON JOVI. Kip Winger had way better chest hair.

Regardless, it was a pretty hairy week. A big, hairy week.

That was a Kip Winger joke.

I'm changing these up, like, twice a week so if you have any recommendations I'd appreciate it.

Thanks in advance.

I think you're fundraising wrong.

I got this email from our 'entertainment committee' at work the other day:

Ah, yes.

Because nothing says 'LET'S CURE DIABETES!' like selling cookies and cake.

I think the next one we're having is a cancer fundraiser where we sell cigarettes and asbestos.

Moving Conversations - Part 3

Of course, as I'm cleaning out the desk in my cube I come across a box of Maxi Pads.

KRISTIN!!!

Obviously, my old cubemate and coworker, Kristin, must have left her vagina things here in the desk when she got fired because I certainly don't ever remember having a period.

Or vagina.

I guess there's kind of a chicken-and-egg thing there.

So of course, being the gentleman that I am, I asked another female coworker, Engy, if she needed them. She did not. I mean, she WILL, at some time I'm sure but not at that moment. Related: I am terrible at male/female relations.

What she DID give me, though, was a stuffed bunny she found while SHE was packing up.

The box of Maxi Pads was then bundled with the stuffed bunny and hidden in one of our coworker's packing boxes.

We called it "Operation PMS Ruxpin":

The coworker was "Tom" and he's a very gentle older man who was totally the best target for this. To show you how gentle and old he is, this is my avatar for him on our Google Email system at work:

Shortly after planting PMS Ruxpin, I was in the lab when Tom walked up to me and said, "Hey. Did you put that damn bunny in my packing box?"

DAMMIT.

Me: "I HAVE NO IDEA OF WHAT YOU SPEAK!"

*runs

Undaunted, I gathered up the Maxi Pad box that Tom threw away (WTF, TOM) and the bunny and headed off to find another victim.

It was at this time that Engy revealed that she had also found a Tickle-me-Elmo doll and a stuffed bear.

This all makes sense because nothing says 'dedicated and hard worker' like having half the cast of Fragglerock in your desk.

Armed with a new arsenal of animals and period soaking cloths, I searched for another victim.

I ended up filling up the packing bin of my friend and former high-school classmate, Iain. Here's what Iain's bin looked like when I was done:

Awesome.

And now we wait. Hopefully not longer than a month. Those pads good be put to good use, after all.

*****************

To see Part 1 of "Moving Conversations" click here.

To see Part 2 of "Moving Conversations" click here.

Moving Conversations - Part 2

As part of our office move, we had to clean out a fairly large double-door cabinet in our computer lab.

I was sitting around talking with a couple of other guys, when Dan asked if it had been cleaned out.

Me: "Yeah. It's empty."

*light bulb

Me: "I think I'm going to hide in it and jump out when the mover's come for it."

Dan: "They'd probably try to kill you."

Me: "BETTER IDEA. I'll tie my hands together with a handkerchief and when they grab the cabinet I'll just fall out of it and onto the floor."

The guys started laughing, suggesting that I put fake blood all over me and stuff.

Me: "Then one of you guys would just look over and go, "OH. There's Jim. I guess he never quit after all.""

In the end, we just - you know - moved the stupid cabinet.

So many great ideas.

So little balls to actually pull them off.

*****************

To see Part 1 of "Moving Conversations" click here.

Moving Conversations - Part 1

Our office recently relocated from the Massachusetts border into my state of New Hampshire, effectively changing my commute from 7 miles to a whopping 3.3 miles and giving me - essentially - a 5.3% raise because you don't have to pay income tax if you work and live in New Hampshire.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

The preparation for this move really sucked because (a) I don't like working, (b) I don't like physical labor and (c) a+b = suck^3.

That being said, there were some highlights to the move.

I'm surprised Obamacare doesn't cover this

Our computer lab has a tiny fridge that was in desperate need of defrosting. I was volunteered to do this, thus prompting this Tweet:

So I took the fridge and put it on a little crate caddy with wheels and brought it down to the men's locker room to hose it out in the handicap shower stall.

As I wheeled it into the locker room, I could hear a shower going. Nonetheless, I pushed the caddy in the stall and started hosing it out.

The shower at the end of the hall stopped, and a guy I'd never seen before got out and reached for his towel hanging on the wall. As he did, he glanced over and kind of looked at me like, 'wtf are you doing?'

I looked at him and, while still spraying, said:

"I'm with refrigerator hospice care. This little guy would do this himself if he could."

The man gathered his towel tighter, and - without saying a word - just walked away.

God, I love my job.

Then again, at $49/hour to hose out an appliance..who wouldn't?

...and every week my Human Resource binder grows larger

A while ago at work we switched our email from Microsoft Outlook to Google Mail and one of the greatest things about it besides it's distinct lack of usability is that you can modify your profile.

Every week I change my profile picture on my work account.

If you want to see all the profiles I've done thus far, this is place to start a'clicking.

People here have actually seemed to enjoy the changes, so here's some more of what people have been getting to see when they contact me:

Running that last Ron Jeremy profile pic was nerve-wracking because you never know what's gonna push Human Resources over the edge. Although, in my defense, if they yelled at me, it meant that they knew who the guy was and - well - touche'.

Regardless, it was a pretty hairy week. A big, hairy week.

That was a Ron Jeremy joke.

I'm changing these up, like, twice a week so if you have any recommendations I'd appreciate it.

Thanks in advance.