Old Man Witherspoon, my boss at the newspaper, has been riding me pretty hard lately.
You see, we have a deadline, and deadlines can’t be broken at the Daily Herald Sun-Times Bi-Quarterly. Not for anything, not even for Seinfeld reruns.
I love Seinfeld reruns. I hate Old Man Witherspoon.
I swear if he tells me to have the captions for the local section one more time, I’ll just quit this job and shove my pink slip down his wrinkled throat!
Sorry…
I’m just a little angry. Last week, I asked Old Man Witherspoon’s daughter out, and she said yes. She’s actually pretty hot, and she said yes! Which was great, but then he said I couldn’t date her. So then, I was all, “What does my asking your daughter out have to do with you?” And he was all talking some junk about “maintaining a professional working relationship,” and how dating his daughter would “interfere with the office environment,” especially with Candice (that’s her name) working down at the cafeteria and all.
Then he asked me for the copy on the story about Billy Fingleton’s chess tournament. And I gave it to him. ‘Cause I’m a sucker. I’m a pansy. I just crumbled and gave it to him like it was my job. Sure, it is my job, but he didn’t have to ask for it right then. Right when I really wanted to punch him in the face, that’s when he asked me for it! What a friggin’ jerk!!!
Sorry… Again.
It’s just that Old Man Witherspoon and I have never gotten along. Ever since the DHSTBQ hired me, we’ve always been at odds. He’s always wanting to work and stuff, and I’m always wanting to goof off. I mean, there has to be some way to get him to give up his stodgy old economy ways and adopt the new school attitude of independent thought and unfettered creativity!
Maybe I’ll just quit and work for www.DHSTBQ.com instead. I’m sure they’re looking for loose, independent types like myself. I’m sure they’re great people over there on the other side of the Great Cubicle Wall. People who know the meaning of employee management, people who will let me date Candice, the burger flipper at “Serial Griller,” people who know that Seinfeld lovers can’t just be thrown by the wayside like all-to-stale Tostitos.
Or maybe they’re just lazy. Lazy’s good.
I could work for Lazy.