Juvenilerider
08-02-2006, 03:22 PM
Lifted from www.boredatwork.com (http://www.boredatwork.com) it's completely pointless but made me smile
The new intern is so fat.
HOW FAT IS SHE?
She's so fat that when I first saw her, I thought some one cloned the 400-pound librarian from downstairs and during the cloning process, they slipped in some manatee DNA, creating a disgusting creature with two heads, cottage cheese thighs and a front butt the size of Prince Edward Island.
(For those of you unfamiliar with Prince Edward Island, it's the only province in Canada that can be rented for the weekend for office parties and high school proms. The people reside in giant underground peapods and come out only on Saturdays to watch Hockey Night in Canada and sacrifice small children and possibly goats to their Jewish god. It has an active volcano, named Mount Soliciting-Sex-From-A-Minor, but it has been out of work since the cod fishery shut down.)
The first time I spotted the new intern, it was from afar. I was aboard my whaling ship and thought I had just sighted my next kill. I was readying the harpoons when I was rudely informed that we're not allowed to dress like pirates anymore since 'Dress Like A Pirate Thursday' was banned after some one ripped up the new carpets with his hook. I'm not naming names but he sits at my desk and doesn't like wearing shoes while he's surfing the Internet for naked pictures of Natalie Portman.
"Now Steven, don't make fun of the new intern," said Corey, my imaginary boss. I've had to imagine a boss since my real boss is only in the office for twenty minutes a day, before going for a four hour lunch with the guy who wrote 'Yummy, Yummy, Yummy I've Got Love In My Tummy.' I've heard rumors that they're working on a sequel to the song called 'All This Love In My Tummy Is Putting a Strain on My Spine And I'll Need Major Surgery Within The Year Or Else I'll Die.'
"But Corey....she's so fat. It's like high school all over again!" I said.
"So you're going to take her to the prom and leave her on the dirt road in front of the hall, while you go home to watch the hockey game in your underwear?" Corey replied.
Me: "I ****ing hate you Corey."
Corey: "**** YOU, YOU'RE FIRED."
Me: "**** YOU, YOU'RE NOT REAL."
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night imagining a new boss. I forgot to introduce myself to the new intern as well, out of fear that I'll be eaten and my bones will be used as fishing hooks by the pigmy people living in her back-fat to catch the mice that follow her around all the time. I haven't seen the mice. I've just heard them. Just like how my dad told me my grandparents used to live in our attic. I never saw them. I just heard their ghostly moans from above along with their ghostly music. My grandparents listened to a lot of Barry White. They sure had a lot of sex for dead people.
The next day my keen sense of timing brought the intern and me to the front of the elevator together. We then got on the elevator when it arrived on our floor because that's what people do when an elevator arrives. I was going to second floor cafetorium to steal some plastic spoons to melt in the new microwave and blame on the Dutch janitor. She was going home to devour several hams and cry. At least that's what I think she was doing. I can't read minds or anything.
"Hi."
At first I thought air was escaping from a large tire. Instead it was just air escaping her mouth. I'd escape from her mouth if I was air. Maybe I am air. Hmm...
"Sup," I replied. That's how I address people. That's why I'm such a charming young man with a full social calendar and plenty of friends.
"I'm the new intern. My name is Fakey McName," she extended her hand. It was like looking into the sun but without any of the fun after affects like temporary blindness or permanent blindness. Or partial blindness. Either way, I was praying for blindness.
"I'm four-time SuperBowl winner Joe Montana," I replied. "I'd shake your hand but my hands are my livelihood."
She raised an eyebrow. Or some pudding shifted place underneath her skin. Either or. "That's...nice."
"Some times I have to hang onto the walls to keep from falling off the Earth. My gravitational quotient is inverse to the Earth's polarity," I cocked my head and stared at her without blinking.
"I...um...I just started here."
"I can only see things in black and white. Right now, you look like a six-foot-seven, black guy named 'Toby.' Want to be on my basketball team? Right now it's got two people. Me and.....um...you?"
Then I got off the elevator.
"Goodbye, friend." I said, waving. "If you ever want an autograph or anything, you know where to find me, Joe Montana."
"Um. Bye."
The very next day, I got a threatening email from one of my real bosses saying that claiming to be Joe Montana won't be tolerated and to stop making fun of the new intern. She's a fragile young flower that must have her soul stomped slowly rather than quickly. Slower, he explained, causes lasting pain and guilt. And that the Dutch janitor has been warned about melting spoons in the microwave.
Friggin' Dutch janitors. I swear, if I hear him clogging on the second floor one more time, I'll dress like Hitler and hide in his garbage cart. I haven't had much use for my Hitler costume since 'Dress Like Hitler Wednesdays' were revoked after the Great Panty Fiasco of 2004. I won't go into details but it involved some one dressed as Hitler (most likely the guy that sits at my desk) shooting thongs off around the office while yelling, "I am the Thong Fairy! I am the Thong Fairy! All hail the Lord of the Thongs!"
So remember: It's okay to make fun of the foreign janitorial staff, but not the fragile, young, fat intern. She may save your life in the event of a large flood or when it starts raining cupcakes made of poison.
And if you're going to get drunk and sneak into a movie, make sure it's not Brokeback Mountain. Especially if you're with your dad.
The new intern is so fat.
HOW FAT IS SHE?
She's so fat that when I first saw her, I thought some one cloned the 400-pound librarian from downstairs and during the cloning process, they slipped in some manatee DNA, creating a disgusting creature with two heads, cottage cheese thighs and a front butt the size of Prince Edward Island.
(For those of you unfamiliar with Prince Edward Island, it's the only province in Canada that can be rented for the weekend for office parties and high school proms. The people reside in giant underground peapods and come out only on Saturdays to watch Hockey Night in Canada and sacrifice small children and possibly goats to their Jewish god. It has an active volcano, named Mount Soliciting-Sex-From-A-Minor, but it has been out of work since the cod fishery shut down.)
The first time I spotted the new intern, it was from afar. I was aboard my whaling ship and thought I had just sighted my next kill. I was readying the harpoons when I was rudely informed that we're not allowed to dress like pirates anymore since 'Dress Like A Pirate Thursday' was banned after some one ripped up the new carpets with his hook. I'm not naming names but he sits at my desk and doesn't like wearing shoes while he's surfing the Internet for naked pictures of Natalie Portman.
"Now Steven, don't make fun of the new intern," said Corey, my imaginary boss. I've had to imagine a boss since my real boss is only in the office for twenty minutes a day, before going for a four hour lunch with the guy who wrote 'Yummy, Yummy, Yummy I've Got Love In My Tummy.' I've heard rumors that they're working on a sequel to the song called 'All This Love In My Tummy Is Putting a Strain on My Spine And I'll Need Major Surgery Within The Year Or Else I'll Die.'
"But Corey....she's so fat. It's like high school all over again!" I said.
"So you're going to take her to the prom and leave her on the dirt road in front of the hall, while you go home to watch the hockey game in your underwear?" Corey replied.
Me: "I ****ing hate you Corey."
Corey: "**** YOU, YOU'RE FIRED."
Me: "**** YOU, YOU'RE NOT REAL."
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night imagining a new boss. I forgot to introduce myself to the new intern as well, out of fear that I'll be eaten and my bones will be used as fishing hooks by the pigmy people living in her back-fat to catch the mice that follow her around all the time. I haven't seen the mice. I've just heard them. Just like how my dad told me my grandparents used to live in our attic. I never saw them. I just heard their ghostly moans from above along with their ghostly music. My grandparents listened to a lot of Barry White. They sure had a lot of sex for dead people.
The next day my keen sense of timing brought the intern and me to the front of the elevator together. We then got on the elevator when it arrived on our floor because that's what people do when an elevator arrives. I was going to second floor cafetorium to steal some plastic spoons to melt in the new microwave and blame on the Dutch janitor. She was going home to devour several hams and cry. At least that's what I think she was doing. I can't read minds or anything.
"Hi."
At first I thought air was escaping from a large tire. Instead it was just air escaping her mouth. I'd escape from her mouth if I was air. Maybe I am air. Hmm...
"Sup," I replied. That's how I address people. That's why I'm such a charming young man with a full social calendar and plenty of friends.
"I'm the new intern. My name is Fakey McName," she extended her hand. It was like looking into the sun but without any of the fun after affects like temporary blindness or permanent blindness. Or partial blindness. Either way, I was praying for blindness.
"I'm four-time SuperBowl winner Joe Montana," I replied. "I'd shake your hand but my hands are my livelihood."
She raised an eyebrow. Or some pudding shifted place underneath her skin. Either or. "That's...nice."
"Some times I have to hang onto the walls to keep from falling off the Earth. My gravitational quotient is inverse to the Earth's polarity," I cocked my head and stared at her without blinking.
"I...um...I just started here."
"I can only see things in black and white. Right now, you look like a six-foot-seven, black guy named 'Toby.' Want to be on my basketball team? Right now it's got two people. Me and.....um...you?"
Then I got off the elevator.
"Goodbye, friend." I said, waving. "If you ever want an autograph or anything, you know where to find me, Joe Montana."
"Um. Bye."
The very next day, I got a threatening email from one of my real bosses saying that claiming to be Joe Montana won't be tolerated and to stop making fun of the new intern. She's a fragile young flower that must have her soul stomped slowly rather than quickly. Slower, he explained, causes lasting pain and guilt. And that the Dutch janitor has been warned about melting spoons in the microwave.
Friggin' Dutch janitors. I swear, if I hear him clogging on the second floor one more time, I'll dress like Hitler and hide in his garbage cart. I haven't had much use for my Hitler costume since 'Dress Like Hitler Wednesdays' were revoked after the Great Panty Fiasco of 2004. I won't go into details but it involved some one dressed as Hitler (most likely the guy that sits at my desk) shooting thongs off around the office while yelling, "I am the Thong Fairy! I am the Thong Fairy! All hail the Lord of the Thongs!"
So remember: It's okay to make fun of the foreign janitorial staff, but not the fragile, young, fat intern. She may save your life in the event of a large flood or when it starts raining cupcakes made of poison.
And if you're going to get drunk and sneak into a movie, make sure it's not Brokeback Mountain. Especially if you're with your dad.