professionalism #8
in the corner of the hallway by the breakroom, there is a potted rubber plant. milkman, the maintenance guy, told me he picks his nose and wipes the snot on the leaves. i always like when people touch it and wonder aloud if it's real.
anyway
i laughed at the plant and rounded the bend, heading towards the breakroom. there are three glass windows that look into the room from the hallway. mid-stride, first window, i catch a glimpse of our boss on her knees near the snack machine. her arm is into the machine up to an elbow, and apparently stuck like a frog's ass on a frying pan. i immediately ducked down and summoned the doktor via cell phone. he arrived directly.
"ok...i really don't think i need to know why you're on the ground, so i'm just gonna..."
"shut up and get down you fool!" i hissed.
"hey...that fuckin' red-headed cuntrag is..."
"SHUT UP!"
"no, johnny, for real...you have to see this! she's stuck like a..."
i sprang forward from my crouching position and caught him with a shoulder to the gut. "STAY DOWN," i said, "we need to figure out a plan."
"get the fuck off of me."
"what are we gonna do?"
"about what?"
"about the boss."
"you're insane."
"that's not the point...did you see her?"
"oh yeah man...she looks like a fuckin' gorilla."
"yeah man," there was a thump and a few muffled grunts from the breakroom. "hey, did you hear about the gorilla at the zoo?"
"what gorilla?"
"you know...that one...the old male gorilla. he died."
"no shit."
"yeah...what the fuck was his name?"
"who?"
"the gorilla."
"you're stupid."
"huh? dammit...anyway, yeah...the gorilla died. they said that the other members of the gorilla family were walking around all sad and shit, touching the big gorilla's body ever-so cautiously, trying to help him get up. it's quite poignant, you know. it gets me right here..."
"yeah...sure...you bet."
"you have no heart."
"what the fuck am i doing down here on the carpet anyway?"
BANG BANG BANG
"did you hear that?" i said, "do you really wanna get up now and risk being spotted? USE YOUR HEAD MAN!"
"what's the plan?"
"mimbo."
"the fuck is mimbo?"
"mimbo...that's the name of the old gorilla that died."
"fascinating."
"yeah right...mimbo." another series of loud bangs and more mumbled syllables. "mimbo...i remember back like in the early '90s, i read that some animal behaviorists worked extensively with mimbo, eventually teaching him sign language and even how to paint."
"how to paint?"
"how to paint...it's fuckin' amazing, isn't it?"
"oh yeah...send that fuckin' monkey my way...he can paint my house."
"i'm serious...they taught the gorilla how to paint. the power of creative expression in an animal. that's powerful...i mean, think of the insight we could gain. what would it reveal? i mean, all sorts of secrets, truths, maybe even a greater understanding of who we are. it's heavy shit."
"you're delusional, i think...get some sleep, it's much easier on your constitution."
BANG BANG BANG
"damm...she really is pissed in there...we should definitely begin to think how we're gonna deal with this situation. i have some room left on my camera phone. missing this picture would be inexcusable," the doktor said.
"you know what the gorilla painted?"
"what?"
"bars."
"bars?"
"fuckin' bars...the bars of its cage man...i mean, that poor creature had that ability and that's all it could do."
"it should be a lesson to us all."
"you're goddamm right."
"no eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn."
there was a series of gut-wrenching squeals...hard rubber on linoleum...weasels in the picnic basket...metal rending...feral cries..."HELP! HELP! HELP!"...muffled by the floorboards.
"my god...i think she pulled the machine down on her."
i peered through the windowpane. half of her pink carcass oozed out of a black polyester dress, her arm bent precariously across her body. her red hair spilled from underneath the machine like motor oil on shag carpet.
"for fuck's sake...she pulled the machine on top of her."
"she must have really wanted that snickers."
"it's safe...i think we can go in. but don't talk. i don't want her to know it's us. and get your camera ready."
"shouldn't we call maintenance? or an ambulance?"
"for what?"
anyway
i laughed at the plant and rounded the bend, heading towards the breakroom. there are three glass windows that look into the room from the hallway. mid-stride, first window, i catch a glimpse of our boss on her knees near the snack machine. her arm is into the machine up to an elbow, and apparently stuck like a frog's ass on a frying pan. i immediately ducked down and summoned the doktor via cell phone. he arrived directly.
"ok...i really don't think i need to know why you're on the ground, so i'm just gonna..."
"shut up and get down you fool!" i hissed.
"hey...that fuckin' red-headed cuntrag is..."
"SHUT UP!"
"no, johnny, for real...you have to see this! she's stuck like a..."
i sprang forward from my crouching position and caught him with a shoulder to the gut. "STAY DOWN," i said, "we need to figure out a plan."
"get the fuck off of me."
"what are we gonna do?"
"about what?"
"about the boss."
"you're insane."
"that's not the point...did you see her?"
"oh yeah man...she looks like a fuckin' gorilla."
"yeah man," there was a thump and a few muffled grunts from the breakroom. "hey, did you hear about the gorilla at the zoo?"
"what gorilla?"
"you know...that one...the old male gorilla. he died."
"no shit."
"yeah...what the fuck was his name?"
"who?"
"the gorilla."
"you're stupid."
"huh? dammit...anyway, yeah...the gorilla died. they said that the other members of the gorilla family were walking around all sad and shit, touching the big gorilla's body ever-so cautiously, trying to help him get up. it's quite poignant, you know. it gets me right here..."
"yeah...sure...you bet."
"you have no heart."
"what the fuck am i doing down here on the carpet anyway?"
BANG BANG BANG
"did you hear that?" i said, "do you really wanna get up now and risk being spotted? USE YOUR HEAD MAN!"
"what's the plan?"
"mimbo."
"the fuck is mimbo?"
"mimbo...that's the name of the old gorilla that died."
"fascinating."
"yeah right...mimbo." another series of loud bangs and more mumbled syllables. "mimbo...i remember back like in the early '90s, i read that some animal behaviorists worked extensively with mimbo, eventually teaching him sign language and even how to paint."
"how to paint?"
"how to paint...it's fuckin' amazing, isn't it?"
"oh yeah...send that fuckin' monkey my way...he can paint my house."
"i'm serious...they taught the gorilla how to paint. the power of creative expression in an animal. that's powerful...i mean, think of the insight we could gain. what would it reveal? i mean, all sorts of secrets, truths, maybe even a greater understanding of who we are. it's heavy shit."
"you're delusional, i think...get some sleep, it's much easier on your constitution."
BANG BANG BANG
"damm...she really is pissed in there...we should definitely begin to think how we're gonna deal with this situation. i have some room left on my camera phone. missing this picture would be inexcusable," the doktor said.
"you know what the gorilla painted?"
"what?"
"bars."
"bars?"
"fuckin' bars...the bars of its cage man...i mean, that poor creature had that ability and that's all it could do."
"it should be a lesson to us all."
"you're goddamm right."
"no eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn."
there was a series of gut-wrenching squeals...hard rubber on linoleum...weasels in the picnic basket...metal rending...feral cries..."HELP! HELP! HELP!"...muffled by the floorboards.
"my god...i think she pulled the machine down on her."
i peered through the windowpane. half of her pink carcass oozed out of a black polyester dress, her arm bent precariously across her body. her red hair spilled from underneath the machine like motor oil on shag carpet.
"for fuck's sake...she pulled the machine on top of her."
"she must have really wanted that snickers."
"it's safe...i think we can go in. but don't talk. i don't want her to know it's us. and get your camera ready."
"shouldn't we call maintenance? or an ambulance?"
"for what?"
Johnny St. Clair wuz here at 11:58 PM
2 Comments:
Its a damn shame that mange-ridden redback fucked up our machine... and didn't die a horrible, horrible death...
Did make for a larf though.
DJ
not a larf...a ralf is more like it.
i would like to thank the doktor for his photographic skillz. perhaps he was not lying after all to the girls he assured were "underwear models," lured into his den of iniquity and plied with promises of fame and glasses full of cheap tequila.
i will be presenting some of his work shortly...it is the aftermath of the recent "professionalism" screed.
night night...and remember...keep your butthole tight.
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