I mean seriously, this weather is out of control! It's so bad here that police are taking 10 minutes or more to respond to a school shooting what with the pouring rain and tornados. Talk about crazy huh?
Even when it's sunny out, it's like 900 degrees with 4,000% humidity! Yeah I'm pretty sure that's physically impossible, but definitely what it feels like, especially when you're naked and surrounded by hot lights and teamsters. But that's another story.
And I hate this time of year too! It used to be that when school's out, it meant it was time to get a summer job, drink too much beer and hit on co-workers. These days my stupid boss says I can't work at Staples anymore, since I'm technically the "Regional Sales Manager for OfficeMax" (whatever!) and my wife just gets mad if I hit on Julie in copy paper anyway. So now all I have is a house-full of unemployed children and plenty of beer. No way I'm doing this sober.
Seriously, what's with this weather? I wish there were more summer sports too. I like baseball, but I think all sports should be summer sports or, better yet, year round! I'd love to see the Brewers play in eight inches of snow and watch the Packers pass out from heat exhaustion in 103 degree heat. Now we're putting the fun back in sports! How can you know you're REALLY alive until you've played the Master's golf tournament in -38 wind chills being pelted with blowing snow? Makes my nipples stiff just thinking about it.
'Twas the day before Xmas Vacation, and all through the office,
not a worker was stirring not even Paul The Snitch.
The desks were all cleaned, per the new corporate memo,
in the hopes that Auditors would not make you a demo.
The workers were nestled all snug in their cubes,
While visions of Walking Dead played on their smartphones.
And Donna, the office manager, and I in my hoody,
Had just finished discussing the spirit of casual Friday.
When out in the mail room there arose such a clatter;
I sprang from my cube to see what was the matter:
Away to the noise I flew like a flash,
Tore open my mail and threw away the envelope.
"Thanks for taking this meeting, I really appreciate it, Mr. Jones. You don't mind the extra-wide lapels and bell-bottoms, do you?"
"How could I, it's 1977 and I'm a high-powered television executive, after all. Cigarette?"
"Sure, I just ate, could use some help digesting."
"So Mr. Lipstein, your agent said something about a pitch you had for our new network 'The History Channel.'"
"Not one, Mr. Jones, but several great ideas. When we read in Variety you were launching a new network, I gotta say, the boys and I were so excited we drank scotch the rest of the afternoon and smoked at least a carton of cigarettes until we involuntarily pissed our pants."
"You flatter me. So what'd you got?"
"Picture this: Las Vegas. The city that never sleeps. High stakes gambling, hookers, the rich and powerful sitting right next to the farmer from Topeka, each able to strike it rich or go bust with the drop of a few cards."
Don't know what I'm in the mood to eat for lunch today. The thing is, ever since we moved into our new offices I've been a bit overwhelmed by my new lunch options. There's a Subway pretty close, and that's cool, and there's that awesome Mexican place down the road, but I don't feel like driving too far. There's also that Thai buffet, which is really awesome, but it's a bit pricey and I don't wanna spend that much. Yeah, I'm thinking Chipotle.
It's spicer than Qdoba, although one time I did find like three pieces of bone in my chicken burrito. The rest of it was delicious. For a long time I thought they were owned by the same company: I mean they're basically identical except for the spices. But they're different companies.
Been watching the calories lately, so this will be a nice indulgence. I like my soup n' salad ritual, but every now and then you gotta treat yourself. Otherwise, what's the point?
June 7, 2012. Meadow's Alma Mater, Ravenswood, Connecticut
Thank you, Chancellor Banks for that wonderful introduction. Only rarely have I been called both a visionary and a genius so soon after sex, and my ego thanks you. Dean McDonald, thank you as well for inviting me back to my alma mater -- at an embarassingly increased honorarium -- to deliver this commencement address before another gaggle of wide-eyed ingénues about to drunkenly stagger into the jobless wastelands. We'll cover that in a few minutes.
First, let us reflect upon the last four years at this crotch-grabbingly expensive institution, that remains much less well-endowed than I am, as Chancellor Banks can attest. It started back in September 2008, and what a fantastic month that was in American economic history. You'd have to study the Great Depression's WikiPedia page to find a worse time to be racking up hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt to finance an education that will place you only a slim paygrade above the most slack-jawed yokel with a fresh H-1B work visa.
Yet against all good judgement, you took the plunge mere days following the Federal takeover of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. Fannie Mae, which sounds like your great grandmother's stripper name, along with Freddie controlled most of the real estate in America. Predictably, panic ensued, much like what happened when you realized that the girl you hooked up with after the freshman mixer was Dean McDonald's neice.
But probably less panicked than you were a week later when you realized those burning red pimples all over "Little Bill" weren't heat rash.
Suffices to say the economy of the United States all but collapsed before you knew your way around campus, including, unfortunately where the free condoms were. Granted a lot of that was related to bath salts and bong use, but also because things were falling apart quickly. Things falling apart would turn out to be a recurring theme during your time here at Yalvard.
By the time 2009 reared its powerfully ugly gob, your legendary Nobel prize winning professor of economics Dr. Charles H. Drasser II -- the bellwether of conservative politics and posterboy of Reaganomics -- had been indicted on 41 counts of soliciting sex from male prostitutes in a four state area. This sent a powerful chill through conservative circles, all but ending Dr. Drasser's "Traditional Biblical Values" campaign so admired by talk-show hosts across the nation, not to mention destroying the brisk little cottage industry the L.G.B.T. community had created based on hating this guy.
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