Happy Friday, boys and girls. I hope you’ve got your funny bones all rubbed down and warmed up, and.. um, dude. That’s not your ‘funny’ bone. Put that thing away before you put someone’s eye out. Perv.
Anyway, it’s time for this week’s installation of ‘Punchline Fever‘. And I’ve got some serious sleepin’ to do soon, so let’s get this show rolling down the avenue, Chachi. First, the rules:
1) I’ll sit around, day and night, thinking of a short but flexible setup for a joke.
B) I’ll post the best setup I can think of, but with a blank where the punchline should go.
iii) Then it’s up to you to come up with your best line, and leave it in the comments, for all to snicker over.
That’s all you need to know, people. Now hop in there, and get yo’ freaky fever on!
Punchline Fever #17:
‘In the news this week, there was a story about a brilliant dog from Germany that knows over 200 words. Nice. Well, I’ve got a dog, too, but she’s not nearly so bright. My dog only seems to recognize six not-so-very-useful words: _______________________________‘
There you go, my bloggy brethren. And, um, brethrettes. Or, uh, whatever. Anyway, that’s the ticket for this week. Get in there and give ’em hell, people. Rock on.
Permalink | 12 CommentsWell, shit on a Chiclet, people — I didn’t expect that.
Seriously. I thought I was just writing a whimsical little ditty about phone screening. But a handful of people were nice enough to take the time to comment, and all of them (or ‘one of you’, if you’re on the list) wanted to know about the job.
(Yeah, sure, I know — I did call on people to reach out and get their resumes in. But how the hell could I know people would take me vaguely seriously? I mean, it’s never happened before. Hell, I had to propose to my wife six times before she decided I meant it. Who knew?)
Anyway, just to satisfy your curiousity (not to mention my word quota for tonight’s post), here’s the actual job listing that I’m hiring for… with my own comments in parentheses. You just knew I couldn’t resist a few sets of parentheses, didn’t you?
Position Description:
The candidate will produce designs and code to satisfy user needs within the (<name removed to cover my sorry ass>) group. Initial assignments will concentrate on our SNP discovery work, specifically handling complex strategic reporting and sequencing pipeline assignments. (Sadly — and much to my own initial chagrin — ‘SNP’ does not, in fact, stand for ‘Sorority Nipple Parties’. So yeah, I was pretty disappointed, too.)
The candidate must be comfortable with the molecular biology domain, including sequencing pipelines and genotyping pipelines. (And don’t forget the ‘kissing my ass’ pipeline. Once we build it, of course.)
S/he must have a proven track record of successful delivery of accurate product and application deliverables in an intense work environment. (I’m not exactly sure what an ‘intense work environment’ entails. But I assure you that in our office, we hardly ever work with guns pointed at our heads, or fat guys sitting on us, or rabid Bengali tigers chasing us down the hall. Sometimes the fat guy in the corner office chases us down the hall, but he’s relatively harmless. And he never has a gun. Almost never, anyway.)
In the (<again, name removed, in the interest of my own self-preservation>) group, employees are responsible for proactively gathering requirements, writing specifications, creating designs, and delivering production quality code. In other words, this is not a position where the developer will be handed a detailed spec to code — the developer must proactively seek out and collaborate with users in order to rapidly produce the desired deliverables. (In other words… here’s your desk. Good luck, there, cupcake.)
Position Duties
QUALIFICATIONS
So, there you have it, all you interested parties. I can almost hear the flood of resumes surging my way right now. Get ’em in quick to avoid the rush, folks. And remember — a couple of twenties paper-clipped to the cover letter goes a long way further than actually meeting any of those pesky requirement thingies. Man, maybe this hiring business isn’t so bad, after all.
Permalink | 1 CommentSo, my office is hiring right now.
(Yes, that’s right, folks — get those resumes in here. Applicants should be enthusiastic, bright, well organized, and ready to kiss my ass like it was covered in strawberry frosting. Which it sometimes is, but that’s probably not relevant right now.)
Anyway, we’ve got an open position around the old workplace, and I’ve been saddled with the responsibility of making the first cuts in the field of hopefuls. This time around, that involves phone screening a half dozen people or more.
Yes, phone screening. The bastard child of the interview process. Phone screens are to actually hiring an employee as copping a feel on a crowded bus is to a big church wedding. It’s a crock.
And the worst part is, you can’t really gauge a person from a phone interview. I mean, how am I supposed to tell whether the person will fit in if I can’t see their reactions? The look of horror when I describe the working conditions… the nauseated snarl when I go over the salary and benefits… the cackling grin when I slip a joke in among the interview questions… these are important details, dammit!
(Oh. No, wait. I think I mixed up the reactions and the stimuli there — I think the cackles are for the salary, and the working conditions usually get the snarl. That would leave the nausea for my jokes. Yeah, that’s about right. Bitches.)
So, I’ve got to figure out some way to separate the wheat from the chaff without actually being able to see these people. It’s tough — they’ve all got roughly the same skills, and experience, and they all tell me pretty much what I want to hear… I feel like I’m not ‘screening’, per se; I’m really just spending half-hour chunks of my life talking about work while trying not to cry. I suppose it’s good practice for when I see my family over Christmas break, but I’m not sure I’m accomplishing anything useful.
Oh, well. I guess I’ll just bring all these people in, and talk to them in person. Then I’ll be able to figure out whether any of them can make it in our office. And more importantly, whether any of them can whip out a convincing fake laugh when I tell a joke. Oh, yeah. That‘ll get you an offer. Pucker up, baby.
Permalink | 5 CommentsYou know, it’s bad enough that songs often pop into my head, and I’m stuck humming or singing them all day, whether I want to or not.
But is it really fair that one of the ‘heavy rotation’ songs is that damned ‘Monchichi — Mon-chi-chi!‘ jingle from years and years ago?
Honestly, could I really have done something bad enough to deserve this? Isn’t this shit saved for, like, baby seal clubbers and Charles Manson, and… I dunno, Fran Drescher, maybe? Have I really sunk so low?
*sigh*
That’s all for now. Sorry if it’s running through your head now, too. Welcome to my nightmare. ‘Monchichi, Mon-chi-chi!‘
Permalink | 13 CommentsWell, this just sucks donkey ass.
(You know, before we go any further — why is it that donkeys are the preferred animal for negative sucking euphemisms? I’ve heard ‘suck donkey dick’, ‘suck donkey balls’, ‘suck donkey dong’, and, of course, the simplest, just ‘suck donkeys’.
But why donkeys? Why not elephants, or badgers, or spiny anteaters?
Well, all right, I suppose I understand why we’re excluding spiny anteaters. This is ‘sucking’ we’re talking about, after all. Still. Is this a good thing for donkeys, career-wise, or not? Is it really ‘good just to be mentioned’, if all people ever talk about is how horrible sucking your various private parts would be? I’m just not sure.)
Anyway, what sucks right now is my leg. You ‘long-time listener, first-time caller’ types may recall a post from a few weeks ago in which I bitched about screwing up my leg playing volleyball. Well, I limped and gimped around for a couple of weeks, until I was more or less better — really, more less than more, if that makes any sense.
In any event, let’s just say that I wasn’t running any marathons in those first two or three weeks. Or running anywhere, for that matter — I took one jogging step across a street, to avoid being splattered by an onrushing Subaru, and whined and whimpered over the ouchies for the next hour. Steps were no fun, either. Or walking. Or standing. I was pretty much a big fat baby weenie for those first few days.
(Dammit, I said ‘for those first few days’. Nobody wants to hear from the peanut gallery, understand?)
So, this past Sunday, after nearly a month of that shit, I decided I was well enough to play softball. Actually, I played the week before, but had the good damned sense to ask for a ‘courtesy runner’, to keep my gimpy ass off the bases and in relative good health. But that was boring. Safe. Sensible. Smart. Clearly, I couldn’t continue on that path.
Thus, on Sunday, I thought I’d test the waters with my nearly newly-healed wheel. It was still a little tender, but felt no worse than a bruise. So, I limbered it up, stretched it out, and jogged around like an old fart, feeling the leg out. And it felt fine, so I declared myself ready to go. Our team was at bat first, and I was hitting second in the order. Piece of cake.
So, of course, I got up to the plate, dribbled a little grounder down the third base line, and tore towards first to beat out a hit. At least, I planned to tear towards first — what actually happened, apparently, is that I took my first step, and something other than me tore. Something down there, in my oh-so-recently-gimpy leg. First step. That was all it took.
And now, here I am again, two and a half days later, still schlepping and sliding around like Gimpy Joe McClubfoot. And that — that’s what sucks donkey dongles. Or donkey diddles, or whatever the hell I said up there in the beginning.
So, it looks like a trip to the doctor’s office is in order. I thought I had a pretty good handle on what happened initially, but if I’d been right, it should have cleared up in a week or two. Clearly — and I know this must be hard to believe — but clearly, I was mistaken. Who’d have thunk it?
Hopefully, it’ll be something all cool and shit — I mean, if it’s gonna be this big a pain in the ass (or the calf) for this long, then it might as well be a snapped tendon, or a ripped-through muscle, right? Oooh, or leprosy. It could be leprosy, maybe. Or how about rabies? That’d be impressive, anyway.
Yeah, it’s probably just a little sprain or something. Hell, at my age a hangnail could drop me on my ass for a couple of days. So there’s no reason to expect this to be anything cool, but it’s probably time to see what I’m dealing with. Maybe I’ll at least get crutches out of the deal — nothing wrong with some sympathy here and there, you dig?
Just remind me to stay off the damned softball field for a while. Bitches!
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