Cookies, Mullets, and Tards

Hooray for cookies! It appears management is taking new measures to lure us into all day meetings by providing cookies. Does this mean in 10 years I will look like the ladies who have worked here forever? You know, the ones with the shelf-asses? Damn! I knew it was their plan to make us bottom heavy. I am already a big bootie girl, so it’s not hard for me to imagine the polyesters rubbing between my thighs. I can already imagine the swooshing sound of my ass as I pass the leased greenery in the office. Is this their ploy so we don’t get out of our cubes as often? Could they be seducing us into working with the thought of sugar-laden provisions, instead of stock provisions?

Also, I was just reading an add and came across a kayak seller named Mullet Master. Wow! Mullet Master? Master of the Mullets? Can you believe it? I feel like I truly found someone of greatness. A Master, nonetheless. Do you think his people have the same haircut? Maybe they are little mullet clones. Maybe they represent the whole mulletsgalore website. Maybe they are the people who created that site to further their mission. I wonder what their mission is exactly? Or is it that he has the perfect mullet, thus enabling him to be the Mullet Master. Maybe he’s a hairdresser. I’m confused, but I know I stumbled upon something significance.

Next up, I was called a Tard this weekend. Let me explain something to you people. I don’t know what kind of Tard I am exactly. I know I have a friend we call Tard, because he is a Tard. He owns civil war memorabilia and sets up the little figurines as if they were in actual battle. Talk about scary. He buys his wife Chucky dolls and thinks it’s romantic. It’s neurotic. I’m not that kind of Tard. Ok, fine. So I didn’t want to pick up my martini glass. So I was playing a game by myself to see how much I could drink out of the fancy glass, without actually picking up the prize. It’s drinking on Saturday afternoon, what else would I do? Besides, salt looks good on my nose.