I Hope Peyton Manning One Day Decides To Endorse The Company I Work For
How cool would it be to work at an insurance company for like 20 years, and then one day thumb-headed Peyton Manning walks in, films a few commercials, and gets paid more money than you’ve made over those two decades?
It would be very cool, because Peyton Manning is a brand, a lifestyle, a man whose skin and your television screen are one and the same. Let’s not ruin this for him, okay? The man made enough money playing football to ensure that no one in his family has to work for the next three hundred years, and that is precisely why he should continue to get paid thousands of times more than the people who are actually employed at the companies he is shilling for.
At our next company meeting, I plan to request a pay decrease to free up some funds in order to lure Manning in, and hopefully he brings the shit-heads from The Voice with him. Given a choice to have a shot at retiring before I’m 75, or watching Peyton Manning tell Adam Levine he should change his band’s name to Maroon 18, well, let’s just say I plan on working for a very, very long time.
Or maybe a guy as rich as Peyton Manning should be paid entry level wages by these companies.
No. He needs this money.
A Kafkaesque Journey Through A Bureaucratic Labyrinth To Request Two Days Off From Work
As a novelist in today’s bizarre publishing world, I have to work a day job. Also as a novelist, people are attracted to me. One person. So we’re getting married. It’s going to be really, really awesome.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
So I decided to take the Friday before and the Monday after the wedding off work. Not difficult stuff.
Corporate America would argue otherwise.
So began a journey that led me on a journey to find a fabled sheet of paper that would allow me to use 16 hours of paid vacation. Luckily, I’m an hourly worker, so all this back and forth really didn’t bother me.
Me, to my Immediate Superior: “Hey yo, I need to request time off.”
Immediate Superior: “Then fill out a time off request form.”
Me: “Where might I get one, brah?”
I.S.: “In the office. But not the main office. The office before the main office.”
Down to the office before the main office I go. “Ay yo, I need a time off request form.”
Person whose authority is above me, but not sure if that authority is above my Immediate Superior’s or not: “I don’t have those here. You’re going to have to go to the main office.”
Me: “Aight.”
Over to the first office in the main office: “I’m trying to get this time off request.”
Bureaucrat 1: “Try the office next to this office.”
Me: “Aight.” Two steps over to the next office. “Time off request form, please.”
Bureaucrat 2: “Behind you, in the fourth cabinet from your left.”
Me: “Ok.” I locate the fourth cabinet from my left and open it. Paper clips, printer paper.
Bureaucrat 2: “The other half of the cabinet.”
I open the other half of the fourth cabinet from my left, and there are two time off request forms, one green, one blue. “Blue or green,” I call over my shoulder.
Bureaucrat 2: “Either one.”
I go blue, and bring it back to my Immediate Superior.
I.S.: “This is a make up time request, for if you call in sick. You need the green sheet.”
Back to the second office in the main office to grab a green sheet. “Green is for vacation hours, correct?”
Bureaucrat 2: “Yes.”
Me: “Do I just fill it out and give it to you, then?”
Bureaucrat 2: “Yes, fill it out. No, do not give it to me. Put it on your Immediate Superior’s desk, and then he will bring it to me for approval.”
Me: “I can just hand it to you right now. I’m in here. You’re in here.”
Bureaucrat 2: “Your Immediate Superior must grant pre-approval, I will process the approval, and then Bureaucrat 1 in the office to my left will inspect my approval, and, ultimately, decide if the request can be sent up the chain to corporate, where they will look over your accrued paid vacation hours and maybe grant you the time off.”
Me: “I’m getting married. If this doesn’t get approved and I get scheduled to work, I’m calling in sick.”
Bureaucrat 2: “Make up time requests for a call-in are the blue sheets.”
What Christmas Songs Can We Still Listen To?
Christmas is almost here, everyone. Time to decorate the tree, bake some cookies, and kick back by the fire while listening to some tunes. You’ve probably got that fire going because it’s cold outside. But don’t listen to that classic ode to rape, ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside.’
After boycotting (and out-screaming anyone who says it isn’t about rape) that song, I began listening to a playlist of old hits. It turns out that the biggest war on Christmas has already arrived in the form of classic Christmas music.
Read the lyrics of any Christmas song, and if you look hard enough, you’ll see that all of them refer to some kind of illicit activity. The following list is by no means comprehensive. Feel free to comment below with your own discoveries.
Here are the most obvious allusions to criminal activity that I found:
–All I Want For Christmas Is You. A crystal clear nod to sex trafficking.
–Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Thinly-veiled commie ballad.
–Let it Snow. Cocaine.
–I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. Alt-right white supremacy. And also cocaine.
–O Holy Night. Secret slang in the world of cocaine users (cocaine is snorted through holes).
–O Little Town of Bethlehem. Way before Jesus became Bethlehem’s most famous export, this little town produced a large amount of blow.
–Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. Hmm, let’s see. Grandma drinks to much eggnog and decides she’s going to walk home? Any old person worth their salt would fall asleep, and that’s before the powerful effects of eggnog set in. See where this is going? You guessed it—Grandma took a few zips of nose candy and unwittingly wandered right into Santa’s flight path.
–Back Door Santa. I just found out about this song, and boy am I one steaming little cup of decaf. At first, I believed it to be about anal sex (I heard some youth at Target use the term), but then I remembered that a lot of cocaine arrives in this country via little balloons packed full of white lightning, which are then inserted into the rear end (back door) of the intended mule.
–Mele Kalikimaka. This is simply what comes out when someone who is coked to the gills tries to say ‘Merry Christmas.’
So this Christmas season, you may as well skip right ahead to Easter music. I recommend the Rolling Stones, who named themselves after the stone that was rolled away from the tomb of Jesus.
Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com
Ouroboros Cat
Rethinking the Mouse Trap
We bought a mouse trap. You’re supposed to put cheese in those things, but people don’t know that cheese is actually really bad for mice. Kind of in the same way you’re not supposed to feed bread to ducks, because the yeast consumes sugars in their stomachs, releasing an alcohol cloud that expands and causes an explosion. Just imagine walking up to a duck that had eaten bread earlier that day. Let’s just say your new nickname would be ‘Nubby’ or ‘Guy whose balls got blown off by an exploding duck.’
Anyhoo, cheese doesn’t have as dramatic an effect on mice as that, but it is very high in fat and can cause cardiovascular issues down the road. That’s why I prepared the below spice blend:
We’ve got a little SPG mix, onion powder, oregano, parsley, and crushed red pepper for a bit of heat. Not only does this pop way more on the tastebuds, it comes without the bloated waistline and crap backup that are major hallmarks of cheese.
This is also easier on the mousetrap, because the metal bar doesn’t have to fight through a thick layer of cheese fat to crush the rodent’s brain, and there won’t be any exploding residuals from the constipation when the deceased mouse……..voids, if you catch my drift.
Give Us a Film About Joe ‘Mental’ Mentalino
Murphy Brown is back. It’s looking like we’re going to get a movie about every person who ever appeared in a Harry Potter book. And every book that appeared in a Harry Potter book. And then the books that are in those books. Even Bumblebee, a goddamn Volkswagen, is getting a spin-off.
I’d like to see a prequel to Dumb and Dumber focusing on the two bit thug Joe ‘Mental’ Mentalino. Now there’s a character study.
Show us some of his childhood. Dig deeper into his struggle with ulcers. Has he always had them? Were they caused by his life of crime? Or was he in such great pain that he was driven to thuggery and buffoonery in order to be able to afford ulcer medicine?
How did the guy get to a place in his life where he was able to cut off a parakeet’s head?
What other depraved acts has he carried out?
So many themes to explore—the development of a psyche capable of animal decapitation, America’s broken healthcare system, the irony of a man being killed by his own rat poison.
There is a market for this.
Moses And His Migrant Caravan Blown To Smithereens By US Military
In a pretty cool fusion of current events and biblical lore, the prophet Moses (who killed a guy one time) and his migrant caravan were blown to smithereens as they arrived at the US border, ending their 40-year journey through the desert with a bang.
After leaving Egypt—a major shithole—the caravan just kind of wafted through the wilderness and for the purposes of this story landed in the Mexican desert. Fox News believers looked on with horror as a convoy chock full of Middle Easterners made its way towards US soil.
Anyways, as the immigrants strolled up to the Texas border, the US military carried out the true hope of Donny and his followers, and blew the whole shebang to smithereens.
That’s pretty close to how it went down in the Bible, right?
how liberals win elections
The liberals want health care, and for children to be released from cages, so they will stop at nothing to make those things happen. Elections are never won fairly by liberals, so here is a rough timeline of what every left leaning libtard socialist nazi libtard will be doing today. If you see any of this happening, light a cross on fire in your yard and the Proud Boys will show up to help you.
-They will begin their day with an omelette (not American food).
-They will go to the polling place and vote. Then they will wait outside for five minutes, reenter the building, holding their pointer finger over their upper lips (to simulate a mustache) and vote again. The women even do this, because all liberal women want to be men and all liberal men cannot grow mustaches. This cycle will repeat for a while (the liberal will use a finger to simulate a different kind of facial hair each time, i.e. sideburns, goatees, full beards, etc.).
-They will take a break to eat tacos and spaghetti (not American food).
-They will cross a border, pick up many immigrants, and force them to vote Democrat at every polling place within a 50 mile radius (this is not hard to do). The immigrants will also use the finger-as-facial hair technique. If the immigrants are hairy, they will vote, and then the liberals will shave them.
-After dark, they will retreat to a cemetery (cemeteries were not invented in America), in order to steal the identities of the departed (for more voting) and do drugs that they got from the immigrants.
-By this time the voting has ended, and they have a party where not everyone is white, and every topic of conversation is about how Fox News is an entertainment channel. They will all be eating hummus (again, not American).
Sad!
Infographic: 2018 Election
Whether you’re voting red, blue, independent, or not at all, I think everyone can agree on the message of the above graph. Migrant caravans, pre-existing conditions, beer, the line covers all that. It dips, dives, dips again, and rises at a few points as well. The intersection of ‘C’ and ‘90%’ is particularly telling.
You would be wise to share this on your conservative uncle’s wall, or tweet it out to that libtard up the street. We cannot afford to ignore this information.
If you find yourself in a heated online argument, produce this graph, sit back and wait for your opponent to type the words ‘you’re right. I apologize.’
So get off your duff and vote, or by the time we get to ‘G,’ things very well may reach 120%, or, equally as bad, -5%.
The future of people depends on it.
The Best Tuscan Chicken Recipe
Don’t you hate when you click on a recipe, only to find not a recipe, but some blowhard going on and on about their Italian grandmother’s journey to the United States, and how all she had was two Sicilian dollars and her recipe book to get through the boat ride? And how the boat sank and she swam to shore, now broke, and the only recipe that survived was one for Tuscan Chicken? Fast forward a few years, and now the grandmother (who wasn’t a grandmother at this point in the story) is slangin’ hash for 25 cents a week, while at night she climbs to the roof of her tenement, gazing east towards home, trying to recall all those lost recipes, but still taking comfort in the fact that she at least still has her Tuscan Chicken. Then one day after work, a Wednesday to be exact, because she cooks Tuscan Chicken every Wednesday, a really hot guy follows the scent up the the grandmother’s door and knocks. People were still really sexist back then, so the guy is like “Hey, you’re gonna be my wife and cook that for me.” She says ‘yes’ and they get married. The guy’s misogynist patterns only continue. The years pass, and she begins to resent Tuscan Chicken, because it has now become a symbol of her oppression. She vows to make a change. Next Wednesday, she makes the Tuscan Chicken, true to the recipe, as always. Except for one minor addition—-POISON(and also some of her pee)!!!! They sit down for dinner, and she secretly pulls out a piece of pee-and-poison-free chicken for herself so she can eat without her husband becoming suspicious. Fifteen minutes later, the guy is barfing and crapping everywhere. Next thing you know, he’s dead, and the grandmother ends up in jail. Ten years into her sentence, she finally gets a job in the prison kitchen for 25 cents per month. She still remembers Tuscan Chicken. The prison kitchen doesn’t have the ingredients for it. The head of the prison says it’s not in the budget. So she sleeps with him. It turns out he was lying when he told her that if she slept with him he would have the ingredients brought in. So she poisons him and escapes. I think this is how she became pregnant. Anyways, now she’s an ex-convict single mother who has killed two people. Tuscan Chicken helps her forget all that.
It’s usually about this point in the story that the person actually gives you the recipe, and it’s really annoying that they could have just put it right at the top. It’s rather vexing. Now, you came here for a Tuscan Chicken recipe, didn’t you? Cook some chicken and pour Italian seasoning on it.
The Philosophunculist 