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May I Have the Extension for ‘Maladjusted Shit-for-Brains’, Please?

Okay, so I haven’t offered you nice folks much in the way of hilarity today.

(Or any day, depending on your sense of humor. But I’m trying, damn you — I’m trying! Cut me some frigging slack, all right?)

I really didn’t intend to get all misty-eyed and weepy about Shampoo Solo closing up shop. And yet, there it is — my last post, all teary and wistful, and yes, weepy over the loss. Really, in general, I try to keep the heavy shit out of here, and make with the yuk-yuks pretty much non-stop. But I’m not made of stone, for Chrissakes. ‘Poo’s blog kicked ass, plus she linked me, and even interviewed me, so seeing her site go bye-bye was a bit of a shock for me. I hope you’ll all forgive me one heartfelt ‘goodbye, and good luck!’ every four months or so. And hopefully, I won’t need any more than that. There are few enough quality sites — and people — around as it is.

But now, it’s on to our regularly scheduled blather. And I think I’m going to mix it up a little bit tonight. Here’s the deal — I can’t help but notice that my very looooong posts don’t garner all that many comments.

(Or readers, really, but that’s a whole other ballgame. I’d have to actually be good to drum up readers.)

Now, I don’t want to write any less each day — I don’t want this crap swimming around in my head, you know — but I’m beginning to wonder whether thirty-eight paragraphs of uninterrupted fluff is just a bit daunting for the average reader. (Or even the below-average reader, which is the type most likely to be drawn in by my sex jokes and adolescent inuendo.)

So, I’m going to try something new. I’m going to hack and chop my posts into more manageable bits, at least for the next couple of days. Instead of sequeing ideas and shooting off topics, I’m going to stick each thing in its own post. I have no idea how many posts that’ll get me, or how long they’ll end up being. But I’m pretty sure that you’ll still be able to suck your daily dose of drivel out of it, no matter what your appetite. Let’s see how this works out, shall we? Don’t knock it till you’ve read it.

Why, lookee there! Here comes the first topic now, right on schedule! How about that?

I have the coolest office game ever.

Maybe you’ve already played this game. I didn’t steal my idea from anyone, mind you, but this is the sort of thing that I can easily see being discovered independently in all sorts of industries. So perhaps the word has already gotten around. But in case it hasn’t, here are the rules.

First, you need an office of some sort. I”d have thought that this would be an obvious prerequisite for an ‘office game’, but you never know what sort of loose interprettion people are going to take. So right up front, I’ll mention that you need an office. Preferably a fairly large one, with lots of people working in it. And hopefully a social one, too — the more people you personally know in your office, the more fun the game becomes.

You’re also going to need one of those voice-activated auto-directory thingamabobs on the phone system in your office. You know, the function that lets you dial a number and speak someone’s name into the phone to reach their extension. This is key; this directory dealie is the heart of the game.

Now, the rules for this game are very simple. Gather together an arbitrary number of players. The more, the merrier. Each person gets to come up with one word or phrase to say to the recorded auto-directory voice. The winner is the person, determined by popular vote, whose word returns the most appropriate person for whatever was spoken.

Needless to say, the words should be disparaging, insulting, and, if at all possible, dirty as hell. This simply makes the game more fun.

So, for instance, you might say into the phone, ‘Needledick‘. The voice might then ask, ‘Do you mean Stephen Glick?‘ At which point, you and your buddies have to decide how funny that answer is. Maybe Steve’s a good guy; hell, maybe he’s even playing the game with you right now. But maybe, this Glick guy really is a needledick — score! Laughs all ’round, and a shot at the grand prize. (Which is typically nothing, of course. Can’t you just live for the glory, like everyone else, dammit?)

There’s some strategy involved, of course. Maybe only you remember that asshole down in accounting named Rucker. That would be a major find. But maybe he’s pissed everybody off, so everyone’s gunning for him. You’d do well to look for a different insult that sounds like someone else’s name, just to set yourself apart. Maybe ‘dumbass’ could be ‘Thomas’. Or ‘fuckhead’ would sound enough like ‘Fred’ to work. Experiment. Try some combinations yourself. Hell, cheat for all I give a damn. This ain’t the Olympics, folks.

Above all, have fun. See who ‘incompetent boob’ and ‘waste of fucking space’ bring up in your office. Even these old chestnuts are worth a giggle if the person served up by the directory is deserving enough. Just pray it’s not your name coming up. This is just the sort of thing that could get a nickname stuck on you for life. You could be ‘Dimwit Dixon’ or ‘Flighty Freddie’ for years if you’re not careful with this. Watch your back. And feel free to cut the directory bitch off if you hear your name started. That’s your last line of defense before the gathered crowd turns on you. Choose wisely, and act fast. That’s the only way to survive, ‘The Phonebook of Phools Game‘, pholks. Er, I mean ‘folks‘. Good luck out there.