Worst Staff Meeting Ever
Man, what a morning I've had.
Been back to work for the past week following two months off for heart surgery. I always like to ease back into work gradually just so I can get used to any new innovations or techniques which may have been made during my absence to the auto-body repair bizness.
No chance this time. I hadn't been back for half a day when my supervisor Dwight Happnstance walks in while I'm leafing through the new copy of Welders World. And right away he's on my case about getting out back and start grinding that old Plymouth that's been sitting there ever since I went in for my bypass operation. "And for Gawd sakes, Howie - get some primer on it by the time the day is done!"
"Yeah, how'd ya like to prime *this*, Dwighty?!"
I said to myself.
Two days later, I'm still doing some fine-detail grinding on that old Plymouth and taking my regularly-scheduled smoke break in the staff washroom with the other guys and Dwight comes in with a big smile on his face.
"Good news, fellas. Tomorrow's staff meeting is going to be a 'Team Building' session - and we're all meeting at Peter's Paintball Palladium! Bring your goggles, some turpentine and a lunch. It's going to be a long day."
So this morning we get there and right away Dwight starts riding my ass - right in front of the other guys - "Howie, let's see if you can do better with this kind of paint than you did with the mess you made with the primer on old lady Bumstead's Plymouth! Ha-ha!"
"Oh yeah, how'd you like to Bumstead *this* ya dipstick!?"
I said to myself.
So we divide up for teams. And as usual, I'm the last one to be picked. I end up on Dwight's team.
"Now, Howie - I want you to be my back-up. I want you to guard my rear. Stay on my ass at all times."
And the jerk says that with that weird leer that passes for a grin. Right in front of the other guys. And he's winking at them as he says it.
"Don't worry. I got your ass, shit-head."
I say to myself.
And as he turns to lead the troops, I hit him square in the back of the head with a burst of orange paint-ball.
"Whatthefuk!" screams Dwight in disbelief.
"Howie - did your fukkin' gun go off by mistake or are you just a dickhead?"
"Sorry, Dwight. But there was a fly on the back of your head. I was trying to help. You know how flies are attracted to shit."
Well, Dwight doesn't know what to think about that last part. Was I being serious about the fly? Or was I clearly demonstratng insubordination on a team-building session?
"Howie, I don't think I like your attitude. Now our team is without it's leader. Did you bother to think about that? Noooo. Because you only think about yourself.
"Well, listen up, buster," he continues in that high whiney voice of his when he gets upset - "Howie, because of your selfishness, YOU can sit out the game and I'LL take YOUR place. Because there is no 'I' in 'team.'
And that's when I said, "No, but there is a 'u' in 'suck.' "
And that's how I got to go home early today. Got to go home early from my whole career in the auto-body field as a matter of fact.
I don't really care. To tell you the truth, I pretty well sucked at body-repair. I was just putting in time during summer vacation till I could get into Bible school in the fall. Studying up to become a missionary.
I do feel a bit bad about what I did to ol' Dwight though.
I regret that it wasn't real bullets in that gun.
Ol' Dwight. Whatta asshole.
Been back to work for the past week following two months off for heart surgery. I always like to ease back into work gradually just so I can get used to any new innovations or techniques which may have been made during my absence to the auto-body repair bizness.
No chance this time. I hadn't been back for half a day when my supervisor Dwight Happnstance walks in while I'm leafing through the new copy of Welders World. And right away he's on my case about getting out back and start grinding that old Plymouth that's been sitting there ever since I went in for my bypass operation. "And for Gawd sakes, Howie - get some primer on it by the time the day is done!"
"Yeah, how'd ya like to prime *this*, Dwighty?!"
I said to myself.
Two days later, I'm still doing some fine-detail grinding on that old Plymouth and taking my regularly-scheduled smoke break in the staff washroom with the other guys and Dwight comes in with a big smile on his face.
"Good news, fellas. Tomorrow's staff meeting is going to be a 'Team Building' session - and we're all meeting at Peter's Paintball Palladium! Bring your goggles, some turpentine and a lunch. It's going to be a long day."
So this morning we get there and right away Dwight starts riding my ass - right in front of the other guys - "Howie, let's see if you can do better with this kind of paint than you did with the mess you made with the primer on old lady Bumstead's Plymouth! Ha-ha!"
"Oh yeah, how'd you like to Bumstead *this* ya dipstick!?"
I said to myself.
So we divide up for teams. And as usual, I'm the last one to be picked. I end up on Dwight's team.
"Now, Howie - I want you to be my back-up. I want you to guard my rear. Stay on my ass at all times."
And the jerk says that with that weird leer that passes for a grin. Right in front of the other guys. And he's winking at them as he says it.
"Don't worry. I got your ass, shit-head."
I say to myself.
And as he turns to lead the troops, I hit him square in the back of the head with a burst of orange paint-ball.
"Whatthefuk!" screams Dwight in disbelief.
"Howie - did your fukkin' gun go off by mistake or are you just a dickhead?"
"Sorry, Dwight. But there was a fly on the back of your head. I was trying to help. You know how flies are attracted to shit."
Well, Dwight doesn't know what to think about that last part. Was I being serious about the fly? Or was I clearly demonstratng insubordination on a team-building session?
"Howie, I don't think I like your attitude. Now our team is without it's leader. Did you bother to think about that? Noooo. Because you only think about yourself.
"Well, listen up, buster," he continues in that high whiney voice of his when he gets upset - "Howie, because of your selfishness, YOU can sit out the game and I'LL take YOUR place. Because there is no 'I' in 'team.'
And that's when I said, "No, but there is a 'u' in 'suck.' "
And that's how I got to go home early today. Got to go home early from my whole career in the auto-body field as a matter of fact.
I don't really care. To tell you the truth, I pretty well sucked at body-repair. I was just putting in time during summer vacation till I could get into Bible school in the fall. Studying up to become a missionary.
I do feel a bit bad about what I did to ol' Dwight though.
I regret that it wasn't real bullets in that gun.
Ol' Dwight. Whatta asshole.
posted by Sonny Drysdale at 2:59 AM
37 Comments:
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Early Autumn, 1979, MNR Stoveworks on Huron St. I had seen this young kid hangin 'round the loading docks day after day. He was a personable fellow with alot of spit and vinegar, so I took the kid under my wing, got him inside working on the line. He was good but it did'nt take long for me to see his eyes were always turned towards the Grinder Guys. Well, I pulled a few strings and cashed in a favour or two with the big-boys and managed to get the kid transfered to the grinding dept. I don't think I've ever seen since a happier fellow. Within weeks he had learned everything he could about grinding and within a few months he was one of the the top grinders in the factory, and then something began to happen. I noticed his happy-go-lucky attitude toward the work had gradually begun to change. He'd become very somber and as I could see he was not about to pull out of it right away, I had a talk with the kid. He told me he was feeling stifled with this job and he felt he needed to move on to bigger and better grinding opportunities. I told him he had a good job and fair pay and that the world outside could be a cruel place and all that jazz, but to no avail.
"Listen Pops, you're old, I'm young, I need dough and plenty of it." "I'm an artist, I can't go on painting the same picture every day, I need...I need...I need moving pictures, yeah thats it, moving pictures".
Shortly after those words were spoken, the young grinder moved on to make his mark in the big cruel world of automotive grinding.
Hey Pops - thanks for the delivery last night.
There's nothing like buttermilk. Especially if you have a lazy colon.
Sonny, I thought you worked at the old Maple Leaf slaughterhouse on Dundas Street just east of the LPH.
Speaking of the LPH, has anyone thought to stop by and visit Honey Pot Sugar Scoop lately?
I'm wondering if her gums have healed up after having all of her teeth yanked out last April.
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Butch - you know darned well that I'm Vegan.
Your comment leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Sonny, I didn't know that you were a Vegan glowtard.
I was under the impression that you were a good ol' fashioned, red-blooded meat eater.
No, I'm vegan.
I only eat herbivorous animals - like cows, lambs, ostrich etc.
I don't eat carniverous meat-eating animals - like wolves, lions or man.
That is what Vegan means, right? That's what Heather Mills told me anyway.
What about poontang ... er ... a ... poutine?
You nosh on poon?
No poutine. Plain gravy and melted cheese is fine with me. Tastes just as good and doesn't have a fancy name.
I try to avoid most things Quebecois because their entire state only exists to make guys like me look stupid just because we flunked French in high school.
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Sie didn' t wissen, dass ich mehrsprachig war, tat Sie Sonny? Wahrheit bekannt, dass ich 10 Sprachen sprechen kann, manchmal mehr wenn I' m hoch auf Kaktussaft.
サニー、I' llはあなたの芸者女の子あらゆる曜日である。 特に私をsakiで酔った得、私の着物に円の全束を詰めれば。
la plume de ma tante
I' γαργάλημα δ τα toe σας με aunt' σας φτερό του s.
Barry Wells, did anyone ever tell you what a creep you are?
I can play that game also.
Don't drink and type you fool. It will come back and bite you in the ass.
Sonny, you know that wasn't me. Just check the ip's. Butch has a couple of places he post from. I know both of that idiots ip addresses.
Honey Pot, who let you out of the psychiatric hospital or did they finally let you back on a computer?
Settle down and take your meds (and I mean all of them, including the little red ones) or I'll sick Elaine Murray onto you.
I didn't think it sounded like you, H.P.
Sonny, you really are a very sweet man. I'm sorry for calling you a glowtard.
That Butch, however, is knee-high to a gutter snipe.
That was Barry Wells again. The idiot is obsessed with me.
Barry is just mad because no one will go to his dumb blog anymore.
There is only so much of nothingness a person can stand.
Barry can't go on the big boy and girls blogs because he gets his ass kicked.
He can't even get people to advertise for free on his dumb blog because they don't want to be associated with his stupidness.
Whatever you say, Sybil.
London Fog is the Big Boys' & Girls' Blog? The average age over there is 21 going on 15. In the brains department, you've got to reduce that to about 13.
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!
Barry, London fog kicked your ass. I still laugh when you were coming over as Holly, and Mike kicked your ass to the curb.
You can't go where logic dwells.
Do you see how those Lfp blogs are picking up steam. Amazing in such a short time, how your competition,*snicker*, is grabbing up the lion's share of opinions in London. They are very entertaining, and allow all opinion, even stupid ones, like yours.
Think of the advertising dollars they are scooping off of that.
...and to think that could have been yours, if you weren't so fucking dumb.
Whatever you say, Sybil (redux).
First you say that London Fog is a hot web forum (not!), now you're saying that the Free Press blogs are hot (not!).
What the hell you on girl?
It can't be weed because you're too stupid to smoke that stuff.
Actually they are both hot, and your blog is not. That is why you sneak around trying to cause trouble on the other blogs.
your blog is dumb and dead.
Whatever. You have no credibility HP, never have and never will, cause you're a certified nutjob with a big mouth and small brain.
Sadly, your opinion on any subject is worthless.
Forget that, it's old news. Everyone in London knows your a nut case.
Instead of hanging around other people's blogs and websites like a terminal case of scabies, why don't you start your own site.
Empower yourself. Do something different. Instead of being a goofy follower, strike out on your own. You might have fun. Try it, you might like it.
But you don't have it in you, do you? No guts, no jam-tart, no nuthin'.
If you only knew...but that is beside the point.
I don't want my own blog, doesn't pay enough.
I prefer going to other blogs. That is why most blogs have comments. They want people to comment.Your blog being heavily censored will never get the traffic or the intellect necessary to maintain a blog, or advertisers.
Of course you couldn't handle people telling you how dumb your articles are, so it is best you leave it locked up tighter than a nun's quiff.
Let me explain something for you HP, as if it'll do any good considering that your comprehension skills are next to nil.
Traffic on altlondon is up 300-400 per cent since I took it over in December of 2006.
Comments are down because people don't engage in the old personal attacks that were so common when you spewed your venom on it. I don't need those kind of brain-dead comments. People visit the site to learn something.
When people agree, they often don't comment.
Regarding not wanting your own blog, remain a parasite then, because you don't seem to have an original idea in your empty head.
And lots of people maintain blogs that have nothing to do with money.
Are all your idiotic comments of no impact on various blogs earning you a dime? Of course not.
You should get your own site. Who knows? People might flock to it just to laugh at your nonsense. After all, people flock to train wrecks and car crashes just to look at the gore.
But you're a follower and a sponge, not a leader. Too bad. When they plant you in the Back 40, who's going to notice?
What'll be your epitaph?
"A follower and a sponge, but a mouthy one"
Bullshit your blog traffic is up. I have seen you jimmy the numbers.
There are no comments on your blog because no one is reading it. No one is reading it, because it is dumb and boring.
Even the 3 dumb head nodders that on occassion, after you have vetted their comment, do post something, are just soooooooooo boring.
No one is reading your blog, and you know it.
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HP, re-read my previous posts, then memorize them.
Your comments and opinions are worthless because they have no basis in fact or reality.
You are a venomous nut case. PERIOD.
Now go into your hovel's washroom and take your meds.
Barry, here is a tip for you. If you play with fire you are going to be scorched.
If you were smart, which you are not, you would fuck right off and stop using my handle to post comments.
I am not a sneaky coward like you. Don't ever forget that.
Whatever you say, Sybil.
Did you learn that off of your father? That abuse tactic, that males try and use to control females.
Did your dad beat your mother and then tell all the neighbours she was crazy? Did he call her a whore to humilate her and shut her up?
I am not your mother Barry, I won't hovel in a corner and take it.
Stuff a sock into it, Sybil. Your fantasies and delusions are best told to a professional shrink.
case closed
Sonny, just another day at the office.
Goodnight Mrs. Kalabash, wherever you are!
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