Cross Words

I'm really good at crosswords and even this one stumped me.  2-Down was a particular struggle because "bitch tits" didn't jive with the given letters and "sophisticated", "solid gold", and "stud" are all too many or too few letters.

I guess I can cross off Wil Shortz from my list of possible offenders.

Language of Love

I like this one because of its simple message: "I love you".  It has certainly buoyed my spirits after a long, hellish week.  I'm really interested in who among me understands sign language because most of them can barely string three words together cohesively, let alone remember to close the bathroom door behind them after they use the facilities.

No one has lost their voice here, so the lies keep coming.  And it is definitely a man with all those Chippendales-type wrist cuffs, though certainly not a Chippendales dancer because no one has that good of a body here.  Fatties.

Scales

The Phantom obviously fashions himself some kind of erudite asshole.  Sadly, I think that describes nearly every person I've ever worked with in L.A.  Could it possibly be one of the several PAs lurking the halls?  I can think of several far more efficient ways of getting ahead in this town that don't involve stationery.  Ahh, memories!

That reminds me, this whole endeavor would be a whole lot easier if I ever bothered to learned people's names.  Eh, hasn't killed me yet!

Post-It Envy

That is the weirdest looking penis I've ever seen.

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

I don't get this.  It's the handwriting of a serial killer. Or a doctor. Or a sitcom writer.  It really changes everything in my investigation.  I was starting to warm up to the idea of this mousy gal with a penchant for Red Vines and rugby who works on the second floor as the culprit but these are obviously the feverish chicken scratches of a man.  A man with no sense of smell, but a man.

Tailgating

This very well may be my favorite one to date.  Our extreme environmental laws here in California keep mufflers from actually belching out such filth, but I like the cheerful step-by-step directions to kill myself.  I find it interesting that this person takes such passive measures to get me to reach a grisly fate, especially when I'm planning on a much more gruesome end for them should I ever discover their identity involving a lumpy mattress, a tiki torch, and several voracious goldfish.

I should point out that I look nothing like Bart Simpson.

Because I'm Worth It

Sadly, I have been tired lately and all four of these options seem like a good idea.  Does this mean that the Phantom Noter wins? Or are the real winners the Powers That Be, who have forced me to put my investigation on hold so that I can be a "Team Player"?  No one likes the guy who scores all the goals. It's hard being amazing.

Encyclopedia Brown

Mother of God.

Someone's been reading my blog.  They couldn't let me be content to have poo-free Post-Its on my desk, so they had to elaborately go 3-D and with fold-outs.

I should probably inform everyone that this was definitely chocolate, but the implication is truly frightening, especially since this one time a few years ago someone left a Pittsburgh Sampler of their own in the ladies late one night.  It brings back awful memories of a witch hunt for that provided no real answers and quite a few tears.  I wonder if it's the same person...?

Big Bang

All I can say is thank God this "Artist's" poop phase is finally over.  I use the quotation marks because their rendition of a bicycle is complete shit.  I initially thought the new seat was my cat because the hand grenade looked like handlebars and I couldn't figure out for the life of me how sitting on a cat, though unpleasant, would lead to death.  Though the concept is good, the execution is horrible.

Speaking of horrible ways to go, I cornered the office intern in the break room and might have been a little aggressive in my approach to see if they knew anything about the Phantom Noter.  He may have wet himself a bit.

The Biggest Loser

This one is just plain mean.  Is it wrong to be proud of such accomplishments when they're for your physical well-being?  Is it wrong to be devastatingly good-looking?  Is it wrong to be... perfect?

I suppose this narrows my list of possible suspects down a fair bit; at least half of my office are fatties and a select few are morbidly obese.  Apparently, Jealousy is a husky mistress.  I guess it leads me to ask: why aren't there more attractive people around here?  I know we should hire on merit, but c'mon, there are some serious mingers around here.

By the way, my head is that big.

Up, Up, and Away

This one actually took me a bit to decipher, as I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking at and thought it to be a much ruder picture. All I can say is that I was mistaking those skinny arms as legs...

Frankly, I'm not sure if this Post-It is even an insult.  Is it a depiction of my demeanor or a homophobic slur?  Could they possibly be witty enough to have accomplished both?  Okay, even I don't believe that given the several instances of poop cartoons I've had to endure so far.

That he/she is eavesdropping on my private conversations leads me to conclude that despite all of their venom they can't get enough of me and it is in fact one of my mostly wretched co-workers, though it brings me no solace since I work in one cubicle of many and my list of of enemies and ill-wishers has grown since I started this blog.  No one seems to appreciate my sly interrogation techniques.

Words, Words, Words

Disappointment.  All words and no doodles?  Asshole.

I guess there really is no love for me.  And yet, he/she did give me a heads up that the awful, germy douche bags that I work with were all over my things again.  Man, I hate those jerks. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than seeing all of them die in the same horrible, fiery bus crash and then extinguishing the last glowing ember of their mass grave with my pee.

9 Out of 10 Cats

I think I may frame this one; the artistry is superb!  I like that my Phantom Noter really took the time to draw out every cat.  Each has it's own distinct personality: some are happy, some are scared, concerned, angry, and there's even a mildly retarded, wall-eyed one in the center.  I also appreciate the nod to toxoplasmosis as a secondary method of death should the implied suicide not work out.  Not that I'm planning on getting pregnant or immunosuppressed any time soon, but you never know... I'm a man.

Though really, how do I actually get my hands on this many cats, because I can't imagine a life more perfect.  When they all purr at the same time?  Heaven!