Several Chicagoans got quite the unwelcomed surprise when arriving at their office and discovering that their umbrellas were covered in eyeballs, human hair and other assorted debris. Like most commuters they had all but forgotten that they were even a holding an umbrella as they hastily jabbed their way through the crowded streets. “I generally just open my umbrella right when I get out of bed in the morning and forget about it! Who wants the hassle of maneuvering that thing? By not thinking about it, I can keep it in one place and let other people do the worrying!” said Ashley Adams giggling as she shook some additional blood from her umbrella onto an unwitting coworker.
Several others around the office around the office followed suit, negligently shaking off hair and eyeballs much to the chagrin of the office cleaning staff. They all ended up having a good hearty laugh about it in the end. “When I saw that Ashley’s umbrella had blood on it again, I couldn’t contain myself, we all just started laughing! Then the hair on mine, it was the icing on the cake! I can be so forgetful sometimes, I noticed several audible thumps but just assumed it was the rain and not someone’s scalp!” said Allen Williams wiping tears from his eyes.
Being forgetful can be hilarious and zany especially when it causes direct grief on strangers, but it’s not all fun and games, at another office the mood was far more somber.
“Losing a massive chunk of hair that got snagged on umbrella wasn’t a great way to start the day, may even classify it as a full blown day ruiner.” Said a downtrodden Steve Jones who was on the receiving end of umbrella negligence. “On the plus side I’ve been getting pretty decent at parkour.” He continued as several others around the office nursed varying injuries.
As the rain continues to fall, the moral dregs come gurgling out of the stinking potholes and cracks, adding insult to injury to your soaking wet jeans.
Rockford, Illinois-An area man who recently took a hiatus from Facebook to protest negativity and politics as a whole from his like-minded digital ecosystem of friends has made his triumphant return after an admirable three day stand.
“I was just sick of it all, on every one of my 300 daily logins I would see something that I either agreed with or disagreed with…I had to the unthinkable…something that would shake people that passively tolerate me to their core,” said Phillip Biggins frantically refreshing his browser to see who had commented or liked his message announcing his official return.
Though most people remained vaguely aware of the protest, the grueling three day demonstration was courageous on every level, and certainly as impactful as thousands of people collectively gathering to stand up against intolerance and oppression.
“Someone had to do it…heroes are made…not born…and I’ll do it again by god…I’ll disappear from one of my social media outlets for a week next time…then they’ll be really sorry,” continued Biggins with a prideful gleam in his eye as he posted a picture of himself smugly sipping a cup of coffee nestled delicately between his two hands.
If only more people had the courage and conviction to briefly retire from a recreational social media site only to return in a blaze of self-congratulatory splendor days later.
Chicago, IL-On Wednesday, a manager was unable to determine whether a conference room full of employees were kicking off a new project, or mourning the simultaneous and sudden death of their beloved childhood pets. Through the pane it was indeterminable whether the moisture gathering on the sunken faces were tears or sweat from all of the innovation happening.
The room was completely silent according to the manager, though mouths appeared to sometimes open and close involuntarily in the moments he observed whatever was happening in the meeting. Some certainly appeared focused, perhaps sullen, while others seemed to be struggling to subdue an impossible rage. Each emotion lending itself to the confusion surrounding the purpose of the meeting.
A collective pet funeral, complete with agenda and numerous actionable items with fellow coworkers, was certainly not out of the question though neither was a life questioning kickoff call with an unappreciative client.
Because neither circumstance was more or less likely than the other, the manager moved slowly on, satisfied that a kickoff meeting could be as emotionally impactful as the death of someone’s favorite thing in the whole world.
Chicago, IL- After another exhausting year, wrestling with insignificance in the butthole of corporate America, staffers sat at an annual five hour long post mortem meeting to dissect other post mortems that may or may not have occurred throughout the year. Goals that had been made and missed or never existed at all. Accolades being given to apparitions that appeared only once a project was complete. Proclamations on improvements to processes that are universally disregarded.
Four and a half hours of platitudes later, the morale of the room had inexplicably dropped. It couldn’t have been the content. It was never the content. One astute manager took notice and recalled something he had read in a management textbook from his class favorite class at University of Phoenix “Perceived intelligence: Doing a job you are unqualified for”. The book read: Employees often times require affirmation, whether verbal or reward based.
A sympathetic glimmer manifested in his eye, a compassionate grin on his lips. How could he have forgotten, Christmas was right around the corner and there had been no mention of any holiday bonus. “I know what some of you are probably thinking,” he said eyeing the room in gleeful anticipation “You’ve all worked very hard this year, and as a token of our gratitude,” several sets of hopeful eyes now rested on him, his strategy was working, “I’ll go ahead and stop the meeting now…give you a half hour of your day back…you guys deserve it,” he concluded, nodding slowly.
One employee threw up violently on the table and they exited in relative silence, a Christmas treat they wouldn’t soon forget.
Granger, Indiana-Nothing accentuates a brutal fire and brimstone pummeling like a lifeless attempt at humor, as was the case at Sunday’s gloriously executed three hour long children’s mass at Saint John the Apostle church. As most church goers stared hopelessly into the soiled papers that compiled the Mass timeline, perplexed by its density, Father Mike began to really hit his stride.
“The key to laughter and more broadly happiness, is grinding people down into a numbing, spiritual stupor. First hit them with an ancient creed THEN pepper in a joke about eternal damnation being worse than the local football team,” said Father Mike enjoying a heaping portion of unleavened bread.
The laughter that followed the joke was involuntary and joyless, several audience members opened their mouths in a laughing motion without actually making a sound. “I find myself way more jovial existing in a state of unrelenting guilt and judgement,” said one attendee, looking fearfully at Father Mike pacing around the altar.
Some people say that song is more powerful than prayer, though the ultimate form of worship is dull laughter caused by the fear of God.
The crippling bubble guts experienced after every IHOP dining experience is enough alone to stomp the shaking fingers of your soul as it desperately hangs from the edge of the abyss and now there’s this. Nothing says paradise like stepping on a gum bomb on the way into a stinking hot IHOP in some strip mall in Elkhart Indiana. I guess the spilled coffee grounds on the floor is like sand. And the smell of stale alcohol and surprising amount of prescription sunglasses and puke stained Senor Frog’s shirts from the degenerates in the booths adjacent is resembles a forbidden paradise of sorts.
Maybe a bite off of these will take you back to the time you went to Sandals Jamaica a decade ago. Another bite will send the memories swirling and the last bite will have you hearing the waves crash against the melting ice in your extra-large diet Pepsi. Before you know it you’re uncomfortably full and planted firmly on the can of a sketchy bathroom. Struggling for dear life against the oppressive heat. Just like when you caught a hold of some bad shellfish at that mystical Sandals resort.
So don’t travel. Don’t bother, there is nothing to see out there. There is no paradise. There is no culture. You’re paradise is mediocre breakfast chain in a strip mall in your home town. Your culture is Senor Frogs and themed pancakes.
In a piece of shit world thirsty for any morsel of news or controversy, celebrity chef Guy Fieri made headlines confirming that he had his first solid bowel movement in over 2 decades. The rare feat happened on Saturday at approximately 2:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time and was met with an obligatory ovation from Fieri’s hoard of Ed Hardy touting servants. “Shut the front door, these guys are what made it happen, they make a porchetta that you won’t forgetta…if yah catch my drift!” chortled a glistening Fieri in a near delirious state after feeling more human than he has in years.
It remains unclear what caused the fleeting glimpse at a healthy digestive tract, but experts plunging into the monstrosity like the sick triceratops scene from Jurassic park have confirmed it could either be the diseased raccoon tartare or tuna sausage consumed minutes prior. The act has caused universal outrage though no one is quite certain why.
“I’m used to it being radio silence down there or looser than creamed corn! That stool is so fresh it’ll slap ya!” continued Fieri being a nuisance and a health hazard in the kitchen with a piece of custom made leather toilet paper hanging repulsively from his camouflage Crocs.
As our stupidity evolves, examining celebrity shit will be a highly influential part in human culture.
It’s common practice in nearly every office bathroom interaction to gently place pieces of the sandpaper acting as toilet tissue on the rim of the seat. The belief being that just about everyone else in the office except you suffers from horrible hygiene and, furthermore, undoubtedly has an extremely contagious case of butt fungus. These tiny shreds of cardboard masquerading as toilet paper are now believed to not only signify the enormous mistrust between all humans but also serve as a mechanism for preventing most diseases.
“The answer was right there the whole time…” said Dr. Van Nostrum, expert in disease prevention. “If a delicate, permeable 4’x4’ sheet of paper can somehow neutralize something as volatile as a workplace toilet seat, think about what else it could do.” Continued Nostrum as he carefully prepared his toilet nest, readying himself for his daily evacuation.
Though the existence of any type of contagious butt fungus is pure speculation, the toilet paper nest clearly eliminates even the slightest chance of any mishap. “The possibilities are endless; this could be the end of all communicable diseases.” Said Nostrum audibly browsing a newspaper behind the friendly confines of a bathroom stall door.
Much like hand sanitizer, we can all now completely succumb to paranoia and look forward to religiously applying toilet paper to every feasible surface.
The groans were muffled, albeit still present, through the usually sound proof bathroom door. A sound that seemed to transition from immeasurable pain to improbable gratification echoed through the moist walls of the company bathroom as I entered. I assumed several substantial orcas were submerged somewhere in the depths of the bathroom stalls, bellowing their enduring mating calls. Or a herd of goats had been brought in for a routine office slaughtering. I briefly considered retreat but my bladder ached from several cups of weak coffee prior that morning. I passively glided towards the urinal, the primal urge of relief easily overpowering the suspicion of the unnatural howls resonating from the stall.
As soon as I reached the urinal the sounds ceased…almost immediately as they began and my biggest fear was on the verge of full realization. The beast that had somehow managed its way into a corporate bathroom stall was preparing to emerge. Unquestionably leaving whatever filth it had birthed to ruin the next unsuspecting employee’s day. The looming confrontation with whatever was clawing at the cardboard toilet paper transformed the pace of my urination from hurried to frenzied. There was still the slight possibility of escaping without conflict.
Just as the stream lightened and inevitably stopped, I heard the familiar creak of the stall door. I hastily zipped and spun around with the hope that I could at least be at the sink focusing deeply on drying my hands to avoid any discomforting eye contact. Unfortunately our eyes locked with the intensity of two people who had just suffered a near death experience together. I sheepishly smiled as though I hadn’t heard the several minutes of revolting, barely human cries prior and was met with a pair of judging eyes. As though it was somehow my fault that he was tormented by transcendent constipation.
Following him to the sink, I braced myself for another several seconds of excruciating silence. Then a saving thought…the Cubs had just defeated the Cardinals the previous night and the entire city had been buzzing about it…there was an opportunity for commonality after all. “Big win last night,” I suggested cheerfully. “I don’t like sports,” he replied dryly, his condemning eyes still suggesting I somehow influenced whatever poor diet was causing the blockage. “Neither am I,” I blurted, not taking the time to consider it made absolutely no sense given that I had made the original suggestion. “Not toooooooo…big into that much sports either,” I continued desperately but unsuccessfully trying to fill the silence. Our eyes met again in the mirror, he gazed even deeper with the melancholy eyes of a parent who had just discovered a VHS copy of Backdoor Busty Babes XII hidden strategically in the rarely used family bread maker.
Looking back on the interaction, perhaps it was my fault, maybe I could have done something to help…suggested a preventative daily regimen of probiotic months earlier…slid a laxative under the door…anything…but I did nothing.
We exited in silence, he thinking that I was a person that didn’t like sports and enjoyed being silently scolded in office bathrooms, me knowing that he was a man that disliked sports and presumably had a singular bowel movement monthly. The way those blaming eyes had probed the depths of my soul, I still feel somehow responsible for the anguish suffered that day.
After a discernibly benign holiday cup caused uproar across the country, Starbucks has discontinued the cup in favor of a cup that perfectly renders the reflection of whoever is holding it. The Cozy Mirror cup was created in an attempt to pacify the enraged customers by feeding into their gluttonous, insatiable egos. The launch of the cup has been met with more vitriol than anyone could have ever imagined. Apparently having to look yourself in the eye right before indulging in a cup of overpriced coffee isn’t as pleasing as anticipated.
“I literally hate what I’m seeing…I think I’m going to be sick.” said Jill Mitchell gazing deeply into the mirrored sides of a venti Caramel Macchiato. “I’m not sure what it is about this new cup…but it’s causing me immense and consuming sadness.” She continued. Other customers have voiced similar complaints, not being able to put their finger on it but finding something extremely dislikable about the cup. Some customers have described the experience to looking at Satan himself or some other type of depraved apparition. Though the experience differs slightly from customer to customer, everyone agreed they felt like “complete dog shit” after looking at the cup.
The cup that was meant to make everyone happy is causing existential crises across the country. Starbucks will soon start serving their coffee in Senor Frogs novelty cups, the absolute only thing that causes happiness.