MEMO TO ALL EMPLOYEES

Please remember that Section 4c of the $MegaCorp employment contract specifically prohibits bringing weapons or objects which could be used as a weapon onto any $MegaCorp premises at any time. For further information on $MegaCorp policies concerning weapons and employee safety please click here.

Poll: Ginger
x-posted to da brog.

A new sign from some department here in the zoo has been hung everywhere: in the break rooms, kitchens, coffee corners, wherever monkeys may gather.

Includes poll
x-posted to da brog.

There are few actually cool people working for us. Back in the days of $BigCorp I constantly thought, "What a group of social fuck-ups," but then I realised I was also one of the group and was most likely similarly odd. Despite certain historically cool factor things about me, I was one of the dysfunctional. I hung out with a few other miscreants until they, one by one, left. Only a couple of tolerable people remained.

Then $MegaCorp bought us and I found out how truly fucked up software programmers, engineers and support people could be. Ripa seemed tame by comparison. No wonder I'd spent so many years avoiding corporate life. Small wonder I'm trying to figure out how the hell to get out of it again.

Poll: Cherry Poppin' Daddies
x-posted to da brog.

I tried to be nice. All I wanted to do was warn my cow-orkers about a particular meme involving more than one girl (but less than three) together with a drinking vessel, a meme they'll likely come across within the next month or so^†. I warned them over and over, repeatedly explaining that I wasn't fucking around. They didn't listen. Fuckwits.

Poll: Best intartubes shock site
x-posted to da brog.

There are certain sorts of people you can count on to talk non-stop. Canadians, for example. All you have to do is mention hockey. Or pilots. Mention anything technical about flying to a pilot and sit back in the comfort that is knowing you won't be expected to open your mouth for the next two hours. If someone wearing chromed heel pumps walks by a gaggle of New York City women sipping lattes, no one in the vicinity will even hear sirens over the babble about Dolce & Gabbana and Jimmy Chu emanating from that table.

Mention the fucking internal process databases and my neighbour Joey will be on the phone for up to eight hours, murdering the English language at over 90dB.

Poll: I'll think of something before I hit Submit.
x-posted to da brog.

Mary just stopped by the CubeDesk of Hate and was shocked. It's clean, relatively speaking. Granted there's a board to ensure one of the four monitors doesn't fall off the edge of the desk and there's a semi-circle of keyboards and mice (and a docking station for the lappy), but gone are the piles of papers, books, food wrappers, Pot Noodle (empty and full), empty bocutlery, napkins, dictionaries, toys, CDs, you name it.

Oh, some of the stuff is still here, but most of it actually has a place to be, even though the DoH is considerably less roomy than the CoH. But the old clappy-hand fly-swatter (release trigger and two hand-shaped pieces of plastic slam together) which she loathed was nowhere to be seen. She's a bit high strung; she'd jump every time she heard it which, of course, only made me use it that much more.

Poll: More Hanna-Barbera Survivor

x-posted to da brog.

Ripa again. I'm getting so much mileage out of her that I'm wondering if I'll ever get around to any of the others.

Ripa's taken to talking to herself more and more. Out loud, non-stop droning on. Except that she's not always talking to herself. Sometimes she's talking to one of us and gets pissy if we don't answer immediately, yelling at the unfortunate object of her attention, "I asked you question four times now and you are not answering me!" Even one of our most patient monkeys who often accompanies her to lunch so that she doesn't have to eat alone let off some steam at a gloriously Ripa-free cafeteria table on the day the following occurred.

x-posted to da brog sans poll.