Scratch 'n' Sniff

I'm not even sure what to say about this. It's disgusting. I threw it away immediately. The others I've kept for my own perverse need to document my life in all of its amazing awesomeness, but this Post-It is one I need no direct memory of in the future.  I suppose I should be thankful that he didn't try to jam it into my comment box.

I wonder if Security has footage of whoever reached into the shredder to retrieve their note and tape it back together? That should stand out in the sea of people who stop by my desk to leave something. This place is loaded with cameras and Security is one of the few offices around here I haven't alienated this summer! Looks like someone's getting doughnuts!! (And a coupon for the gym!!)

Matthew Scissorhands

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Yes! At last! If you could see me right now, I'm doing a very happy dance in my cubicle, though if you can't it's probably for the best because my dance leaves a lot to be desired.

I finally was able to respond to my Phantom Noter in terms that he can understand: Eat shit and die! This is war and the tide is finally turning in my direction!

Also, my comedy stylings are way funnier than Gallagher, even with the extra fruit.

My Box Runneth Over

Complain and you shall receive! People were queuing up down the hall yesterday when they finally realized I had a comment box that they could explicitly tell me what they thought and as you can see, I instantly told them what they could do with their opinions.  It turns out though that everyone was going out of their way to write nice things like "you're so sweet," "keep doing an awesome job," "we need to hang out more, you're fun" and not writing me hate mail as expected.  So now just about the entire office is mad and not talking to me.  Maybe that's a good thing though; I hate everyone here too and the last thing I want to do is sit with one of them through lunch.

Wednesday the 29th

My cat is a she and she's far too much of a lady to come after me like that. Yes, she's a holy terror, but she's my holy terror.

Leave it to this guy to not follow instructions and use my fancy new comment box. Yes, a big part of me putting it there was to limit the area that people passing by could leave half-drunk cups of cold coffee, chewed pens, and their morning bagel remnants. But I also wanted to let my Phantom Noter know exactly what I think of him and his comments the moment he puts one inside the box.

You'd think figuring out his identity would be easy considering his complete lack of literacy, but then that covers so many people I work with.

Comment Box

To combat the summer onslaught of various love letters and/or death threats I've been receiving, I decided to build a receptacle to receive all manner of complaints.  It is truly amazing.

And yes, that's my bike in the photo. I'm that green. Eat it.

Fold This!

My "friend" keeps spending more and more time on these things. You'd think he'd have better things to do at work than coming up with annoying artwork. Facebook doesn't update itself.

Instead I get this stupid reverse Fold-Out. I would rather die than puke, I have never been fired (though I frequently quit), I don't wear pants at work (and my legs are much shapelier), and I don't drink beer (it makes me feel fat). C'mon, you can insult me better than that!

Also, it turns out my leaving the Post-Its in the I.T. guy's office wasn't his undoing; he was reselling computers he'd purchase on the company's dime for a nifty profit. I might still continue to take credit for his firing though, because I'm that kind of guy. History is written by the winners, or at least the person who gets to their blog first.

Guilt-Free

Are you freaking kidding me?!?!?!

I may have fingered the wrong man for the crime, but I agree with the Phantom Noter, there is no love lost among any of the staff here at our computer tech's departure. In fact, everyone with me on the second floor celebrated his demise over margaritas at lunch!

If you're wagging your finger in shame at me, I should point out that this Post-It is misleading.  The I.T. guy does not have any children. I can guarantee that no woman on earth would desire to procreate with that skinny-jeaned freak. Hell, I'm not even sure he knows how.