A Memorial Day to Forget

- I am definitely not going to turn this blog into an office supply review site (I'd rather let someone let someone maim me with a trusty Swingline stapler than do that). However, my sheer hatred for one particular appliance merits some mention. FUCK BOSTITCH STAPLERS. The only way those pieces of shit can get to pieces of paper bound together is by inspiring a primal rage in the user that allows him or her to fight through the pain and staple the documents via headbutt.

- Going through these files, I see that one of them is a lawsuit. The plaintiff was a major fast food franchise, the defendant was an independently owned Cuban restaurant. The claim? That the cuban restaurant was selling a croqueta preparada before eleven, thus violating an exclusivity contract. This is why there is no karma. In a just world the addition of a freshly fried croqueta to a warm piece of Cuban bread ought to make you a candidate for sainthood, instead in our world it makes you a candidate for BULLSHIT.

- Now they're arguing over what constitutes a neon sign. This thought leaves me a semi-conscious drooling mess for the better part of a half hour. I reassure myself I can make it through this only to find that the next document contains a definition for "person". It is sadly very limited.

Sorry old buddy.

 - Whoever originally filed all this obviously also had their mind blown by the last few stacks of paper. His stapling has become more and more erratic, with staples binding documents no more related than Muhammad Ali is to Al Bundy. They are also attaching post-it notes ranging from frantic and confusing ("RECOPY, UNPRINT!") to characters and symbols no human-designed keyboard has buttons for.

- Wow! All these papers sure have a lot of pretty scary confidentiality notices all over them!

- Ok, some of these have confidentiality notices for completely blacked out sheets of paper. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

- Some of these documents have been copied and recopied so many times they look less like text and more like the world's worst magic eye. I relax my eyes and stare at it, after a minute of staring I find only disappointment. I make another copy of it anyway.

- Now the shopping center is suing the Cuban restaurant for selling loaves of Cuban bread. I realize the concept of the "free market" is flawed in even more ways than I had previously thought. I crave Cuban bread, I remember it has the same ingredients as beer. I think about adding lard to beer. I become aroused.

- Looking through more and more legal documents I keep seeing gratuitous, masturbatory Latin phrases being tossed around like racial slurs at the Daytona 500. Latin has been dead as a language for hundreds of years and yet in the deepest, darkest holdouts of academia, law students and philosophy professors take every possible opportunity to play with its corpse. It's been stinking up the place for years now and I think it's time to quit pretending it's breathing and give it a proper burial.

You're not fooling anybody either, Roman.

- How does one place have eight separate Certificates of Occupancy? Is somebody fucking with me?

-Ok, just found number nine. This is not a funny prank.

-Oh. Wait. I work for crazy people.

- Everything in this file is marked with "URGENT!" in big red letters, is there something terribly time-sensitive about mattresses I don't know about?

Don't feed after midnight?

- Every old white guy thinks they can sing "Proud Mary."

- I still giggle whenever I read "monies" in a serious business letter.

- At the end of Forrest Gump, aren't we left to assume that Jenny died from AIDS? Wouldn't that mean there's a pretty good chance that Forrest has AIDS? Doesn't that also mean their son will have to deal with not only being raised by a functionally retarded father but with said father's premature death, and then possibly, his own? How was this a feel-good movie?

- This document. One document. This single, individual lone document is bound by eighteen staples. EIGHTEEN. It took me one staple to get it back together. I hate to think this, and I hate to think about the last person who had to do this, but I think this one feat makes me eighteen times better at staples than they were.

- That's SO going on my resume.

- The mere sight of office supply stores now turn me redder than Elmo after a day at the beach, and far less giggly.

- This file contains serious legal documents addressing the difficult and important question, one that will help define us as a nation: "Is a donut legally a pastry?"

- My employers are fucking nutzo.

- Tom Petty played on the radio the whole ride home. Things might be lookin' up for me, let's just hope they're not staring up at a pigeon.