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idiotprufs

Read by four out of five drunken monkeys, written by the fifth.

Archive for the tag “work”

Student Union bans the sweets ‘Midget Gems’ until they are renamed — The Daily Squabble

“Confectionery manufacturers have to realise this is 2019”, said Olly Chuzzlewitt, Student Union President of Much Craplock University (formally Much Craplock College of brick-laying and beauty studies). “They can no longer use terms like ‘midget’ as if we were back in Victorian times or being subjected to ‘The Greatest Showman’.” “This has to stop. Looking…

via Student Union bans the sweets ‘Midget Gems’ until they are renamed — The Daily Squabble

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Don’t Say it to Your Boss


office space

 

Monster.com has compiled a list of things not to say to your boss. Let’s take a look at their list:

  1. I need a raise.
  2. That just isn’t possible.
  3. I can’t stand working with__.
  4. I partied too hard last night–I’m so hung over.
  5. But I emailed you about that last week.
  6. It’s not my fault.
  7. I don’t know.
  8. But we’ve always done it this way.
  9. Let me set you up with__.

I know–this list is ridiculous and useless.

I’ve made some subtle changes to the entries. Here’s what you really can’t say:

  1. I need a raise; I can barely steal enough from the office to keep up with the rising cost of cocaine and hookers.
  2. That just isn’t possible. I need to take two hours for lunch; it difficult to get properly drunk in one hour.
  3. I can’t stand working with these voices in my head; they keep telling me to kill again.
  4. I Partied too hard last night–I was almost too drunk to have sex with your wife.
  5. But I emailed you about that last week; I directly indicated to you that a reactor core meltdown was imminent, it’s not my fault if you don’t check your email.
  6. It’s not my fault; how was I supposed to know bringing my pet chimpanzees to work would be frowned upon…I’m sure that feces will wash out of your hair.
  7. I don’t know. I would be better at my job if your woefully inadequate leadership skills didn’t fail to inspire me on a daily basis.
  8. But we’ve always done it this way…you galactically incompetent prick.
  9. Let me set you up with my cousin; she’s one of those genuinely well-mannered Neo-Nazi skinheads.

Do see how much more helpful this list is?

Jack Dee

VEN Server Hacked By Russians! — VERY ERSATZ NEWS

via VEN Server Hacked By Russians! — VERY ERSATZ NEWS

Banker retires and becomes an even bigger tw*t, say his “friends” — Bull of the Board

We all know them. Its me me me, and they bore the sock off us all. Only retirement can make them more annoying, and yet somehow there is more…

via Banker retires and becomes an even bigger tw*t, say his “friends” — Bull of the Board

Agency Goes Bankrupt — gooferie

DevelopDevelopErie, the agency set up to promote the economic revitalization of struggling DevelopErie, an agency set up to promote economic revitalization in struggling Erie County, has gone bankrupt, according to court documents filed yesterday. County Executive Kathy Dahlkemper issued a press release which, in its entirety, reads, “Swear to God, can’t catch a break.”

via Agency Goes Bankrupt — gooferie

Erie Baseball Mascot C. Wolf Shot by Overzealous Hunter — gooferie

Erie SeaWolves mascot C. Wolf is resting comfortably tonight after being shot while making a promotional appearance in West Springfield. Mr. Wolf was posing for a photograph near a wooded area off Route 20 when a single shot, fired by hunter Hunter Danovitch, grazed his tail. Mr. Wolf immediately returned fire with his T-shirt gun, […]

via Erie Baseball Mascot C. Wolf Shot by Overzealous Hunter — gooferie

Casino Worker Breaks Ankle; Is Euthanized — gooferie

Presque Isle Downs and Casino announced today that a blackjack dealer broke his leg during a game and had to be humanely euthanized. The dealer slipped on an errant ice cube and fractured his ankle, necessitating the on-call medical staff to erect a curtain behind which the employee was put down to end his suffering. […]

via Casino Worker Breaks Ankle; Is Euthanized — gooferie

Just Stop Talking!

Bad decision sign

This conversation actually happened at a place where I worked, involving myself, a female supervisor, and a coworker named Bill who makes very questionable decisions.

Supervisor: I think I should go on a diet and shed a few pounds before summer.

Bill: You don’t need to lose weight; you’re pleasantly plump.

(Several moments of painfully awkward silence.)

Supervisor: I’m what?

Bill: you’re pleasantly plump.

Supervisor: I’m plump am I? Plump is what I am? I’m plump?

Bill: no, you’re pleasantly plump.

Me: (whispering discretely in Bill’s direction) stop saying the word plump, dude.

Supervisor: so my plumpness is pleasant to you?

Bill: I like a girl with meat on her bones.

(Another long and horrifying awkward silence.)

Me: wow, I can’t believe you thought the word meat would be helpful.

Supervisor: so I’m plump and meaty. (turning to address me) Do I look pleasantly plump to you?

Me: (frightened): pleasant is certainly not a word I would employ at the moment.

Supervisor: (growling) but am I plump?

Me: NO!

Bill: There’s nothing wrong with having some junk in your trunk.

(She literally became so angry she couldn’t speak.)

Me: you really need to stop all of the words that are coming out of your mouth, Bill.

Bill: (holding his hands wide apart) but I like women who have…

Me: STOP!

I can only guess at how Bill was going to finish that sentence; I am certain it would have resulted in his homicide.

The supervisor tortured Bill for weeks, screaming “watch out, there’s fat coming through,” every time she walked past him.

It was funny–for me.

The moral of this story: don’t be a dumbass.

Christmas turkey

Remember: plump and meaty is fine when describing your Christmas Turkey, but not when describing your boss.

Putting One Thing on Top of Another Thing

blocks,

An example of my capabilities.

“Do you understand?” He was gaping at me the way someone would who had just tried to explain calculus to an ape. And not one of those clever apes that knows sign language but one those apes on the nature channel that’s eating its own poop.

“Seriously?” I responded.

“Yeah,” he spat the word at me in the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure. “Did you understand what I just explained to you?”

Note: in fairness to him, the most condescending arrogant voice he could conjure was just his voice–the fact that he resembled a rat didn’t help.

Allow me to go back to the beginning and explain: I am referring to an experience I had as a temporary worker. When you’re a temporary worker, there are certain things about you that are presumed:

  • You possess the education of a 12th century manure mucker, your biggest aspiration is to one day be allowed to use a shovel.
  • You need everything explained to you at least a dozen times.
  • You need everything explained in a tone that one would use when explaining to a small child why he shouldn’t eat all the fingerpaint and vomit into the fish tank.
  • You need everything explained to you in monosyllabic language. (Ironically, the word monosyllabic is exactly the type of word that should never be used when explaining something to a temporary worker.)
  • You need everything explained to you with accompanying diagrams. These diagrams should be drawn in crayon if possible.
  • All diagrams should be drawn in non-threatening colors such as forest green or navy blue. Bright colors confuse and disorient temporary workers (fuchsia makes us crazy).

I was interrupted from my duties by Rat-Faced Guy, (not his actual name) who informed me that he needed my assistance.

He dragged me over to a line where juice was being packaged in small cans. As cases of these cans progressed down the line, a machine would lift every other case and then fling the cans into the air, spilling them across the floor. Evidently, that’s not how the machine was designed to operate.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably not his name) explained to me that the malfunctioning machine would be shut down, and I would step in to take its place. As the cases came down the line in pairs, it would be my job to pick up the first case of juice, and place it on top of the second case of juice. Then I would have to do that again and again, until the machine was operating properly again.

It was at point that Rat-Faced Guy (potentially his actual name, when I said Rat-Faced Guy, people seem to know to whom I was referring) asked me if I understood.

“So, you’re asking me if I understand putting one thing on top of another thing?” I asked him.

“Yeah.” He looked at me with his beady eyes, his wispy mustache twitching nervously.

“What if, instead of putting the first case on top of the second, I put the second case under the first case?” I proposed.

Rat-Faced Guy (probably his actual name) looked at me incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m a visionary,” I told him. “I’m like Henry Ford, Steve Jobs, or Thomas Crapper.”

“Just do it the way I told you,” squeaked Rat-Faced Guy (almost certainly his actual name).

For the next two hours, I stood in one spot, and successfully put one thing on top of another thing.

Perhaps now they will trust me with something challenging such as putting one thing next to another thing.

The sky’s the limit–except for stacking things: two is the limit for stacking things.

 

idiotprufs, rat cartoon

Rat-faced guy having lunch.

Woefully Inadequate Preparation

 

pythagorean theorem

Useless knowledge when you’re about to be cut.

This occurred while I was working as a quality control inspector at a steel coating plant near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I was sitting at my desk filling out paperwork–paperwork that I’m sure was vital to the daily functioning of the plant, and not be interrupted–when the crane operator, Jim, burst into the office.

“We have a problem,” he barked.

Jim tended to have problems more days than not. Urgent problems. Urgent problems of all varieties. (I could tell it was urgent because Jim was using his urgent voice. His urgent voice was similar to his whiny voice, but an octave higher.)

I looked around the office to discover I was the only one there. Crap.

“Houston,” I said to him.

“What?”

“When you burst into a room to exclaim that you have a problem, you’re supposed to say, ‘Houston, we have a problem.'”

“But we’re not in Houston.”

Note: nobody gets me.

“Never mind. What’s the problem?” I asked with genuinely feigned interest.

“Look at this,” he said as he shoved his phone at me. It was a picture of some temp workers standing outside on a smoke break.

“It’s a picture of some temp workers standing outside on a smoke break.” I said.

“You don’t see the problem?” He was incredulous.

“The threat of emphysema?”

“Look closer.” He shoved the phone at me again.

“Okay. They’re all smoking cigarettes, except for that little guy who seems to be holding…a crack pipe.”

“So you understand the problem now?”

“He’s not sharing with the others?”

“This is serious,” he snapped.

“Selfishness is a serious problem, Jim,” I admonished him.

“I can’t be operating a crane out there with people running around all hopped up on drugs.”

“Do people still use the phrase hopped up?”

“Are you going to do something or not?”

“Where’s Rick?” I asked. “He’s loud and obnoxious and loves to yell at people.”

Rick was the foreman, he was loud and obnoxious and loved to yell at people.

“He called off today,” Jim told me.

Note: It’s so rare that you’re in want of a person who is loud and obnoxious and loves to yell at people, but the one time you are, he’s not around. I once asked the owner why he made Rick the foreman. He told me that Rick was too stupid to do anything useful, but he was good at yelling at people, so he made him the foreman. Just another reason the Pittsburgh steel industry is thriving–in Japan.

My immediate boss was also off that day. This was horrible luck for me since I mainly dealt with readings, measurements, recording data and that type of thing. What I didn’t deal with were problems that could lead to me being stabbed in the side of head.

I approached the person in question. He was a little guy with glasses. He looked like Mr. Peabody if Mr. Peabody were a crackhead and not a cartoon dog. He was sweating profusely and his eyes were darting back and forth.

Mr. Peabody (probably not on crack)

“We won’t be needing you for the rest of the day, so you can go home now,” I told him, hoping that he would just acquiesce and leave.

“Why?” He demanded.

“We just don’t need you.”

He leaned into me, and growled in a slow deep voice, “is it because of the leprechauns?”

I gaped like an idiot.

“It’s the leprechauns isn’t it?” He persisted.

“No. It has nothing to do with the leprechauns.” I spoke slowly. “It’s more that you smoked crack on your break.” I felt at that point, honesty wasn’t going to make the situation any worse.

“Is that what the leprechauns told you?” He screamed. “The leprechauns lie!” Then he produced a razor blade from his pocket and held it to my face.

Evidently honesty could make things much worse.

He then gave me a very strange look and asked in a near whisper, “are you a leprechaun?”

You’re never really prepared for the first time someone asks you if you’re leprechaun. The public schools are woefully inadequate in such preparation. Knowing how to diagram a sentence or use the Pythagorean theorem are useless abilities when you’re about to be cut.

So I said the only thing my agile brain could produce: “I’m not even wearing green.”

Luckily for me (almost leprechaun lucky) Mr. Peabody became so fearful of leprechauns, he left on his own without incident.

But the next time someone asks me if I’m a leprechaun–I’ll be prepared.

My true identity.

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