Last week, I had this REALLY funny e-mail conversation with one of my co-workers. I e-mailed him that he should watch Flight of the Conchords, and he told me to watch something, and then I asked if he listened to The Black Keys and he said, "The Black what? Hmm. No. But I have a picture of me with these cool guys I happened to be hanging out with in a bar in Chicago in 2006" and it was a picture of him with the two guys from The Black Keys. Then I sent him the link to The Bloggess, (for which he STILL hasn't thanked me), and then he sent me a link to this funny blog called Salami Tsunami.
And then my ego took over the reasonable, thinking, logical side of my brain, and I did it. The thing I swore I wouldn't do.
"So, Snarky Co-Worker, if you click on this link, you are promising to never, ever pass it along or share it with anyone else at work or I will key your car." And I sent him a link to this blog. Oh, the narcissism! Is it not enough that there are 245 followers here? Is there really room for any more! Particularly when I start slacking off on posting three times a week!? And when will people learn not to use work e-mail to pass on questionable material!?!
Co-worker laughs, on e-mail, so it was like "ha ha, LOL, :o or some electronic chortle, and says, Of course I won't pass it on! and then he promptly does a REPLY ALL on our e-mail exchange to send me and my boss some artwork we needed for a box for the hooking supplies. OH. SHIT.
I promptly speed walk to his office, poke him hard in the chest, and scream whisper, "THANKS ALOT, JIM BOB MCGEE, YOU SENT THAT TO THE BOSS!" and he turns five shades of green and says, "No I didn't" and turns to his computer, pulls up the e-mail, and starts repeating, "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck". Then I feel bad because he is getting a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and I say, "Oh, it's okay, I'm sure he loves vagina cupcakes" and laugh nervously, even though we all KNOW they were not vaginas.
Today's topic: An Open Letter to my Boss
I understand that through an unlikely string of events there is a chance you may have been given a link to my blog. On Whoreticulture Friday. If you have already read the blog, then I am sure you already realize that it is being written not by me, but by the ghost of Marliyn Monroe, who we all know was on barbituates and can't be held responsible for what she writes.
I ask you, who looks like the more likely candidate to be the author of a blog series called "Whoreticulture Friday":
Mr. President-singing Playboy covergirl sexpot, OR
Respectable marketer of hooking supplies?
That's what I thought.
The topic of last week's post was Pussy Posting. Clearly, this was not related to genitals in any way. That would be crass, even for Marilyn.
Such a cute little pussy. Nice shag, too.
If the ghost of Marilyn was trying to offend you, she wouldn't post pictures of kittens, she would post pictures of George the Superpet sexually molesting my mother at Christmas to the horror of the children because she had the misfortune of sitting in his chair.
Down boy! Bad dog!
Perhaps, Sir, you were puzzled by the pictures of the colorful cupcakes.
(Photo credit to the person whose name I can't track down who will punch you in the vagina if you dare re-post the photo of her vagina cupcakes without permission.)
Obviously, Marilyn posted this photo because I am planning a Georgia O'Keefe-themed party for Youngest Daughter's birthday in April. Georgia O'Keefe cupcakes! Yummy and enlightening! Let's culture up, second graders!
Not a colorful vagina. Art.
I see it in chocolate with rainbow fondant.
By Georgia O'Keefe.
Titled "Through the Eyes of an OBGYN on Peyote".
By Georgia O'Keefe.
Titled "Sorry, We Are Fresh Out of Epidurals".
And so, Gentle Employer, I think you can see that it was all a big misunderstanding. A post on that crazy and mysterious Internet, posted by some random woman who is actually not even alive and on barbituates, about kittens and art. I think we have all learned something here.
Never send links to your occasionally porn-themed blog to anyone you will see on a daily basis or with links to your paycheck, particularly male marketing gurus who hang out with The Black Keys. Even if it WAS an accident.