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01/9/25   
The next last big thing

Boys, You're All Pretty

by Red Bagel
bio/email
October 13, 2003
Some of you out there may think it's all fun and games here at the commune, but I assure you it's not. Fun and games were eliminated when I returned months ago, about the same time I implemented the 30% pay reductions and started receiving those death threats in my inbox. But you can't always rule with an iron thumb, as I learned shortly after being arrested for assault with an iron thumb a while back. Sometimes you have to implement diplomacy. This may be one of those times.

I am all for the occasional goofing off, when I am completely unaware of it. I heartily endorse a work environment where everyone is comfortable when I'm not present. However, when my good will is abused like a 14-year-old's johnson, it's no more Mr. Nice Guy, Alice Cooper. Hence I instituted the strict policy that all commune employees, even the meager people, are no longer allowed to host personal websites. This not only goes for time spent at the office, but time away from the commune as well, and probably infringes upon quite a few constitutional rights, not that I'm bragging.

It is necessary, I assure you. I couldn't have cared less about what my staff did in their off hours a few short weeks ago, and lament all that money wasted on expensive digital videotape. Then I discovered the unsettling image of Ted Ted, half-nude, and dressed entirely as a woman. You couldn't see the naughty bits, thanks to his concealing hands and a well-placed teddy bear, but you might as well have scraped my eyes out with a melon baler and saved me the pain. No one here could forget that frightful image, especially since print-outs of it keep winding up on the hallway bulletin board.

My confidence in Ted Ted was shaken until I found out he took the photos early in his career, when a photographer friend of his assured him all reporters got their foot in the door the same way. Word has it he even produced some candid shots of Dan Rather to prove his point, which I won't argue with, since I don't want to see them myself. But Ted Ted promised the photos were quite old and he no longer engaged in such antics and the man who posted them would mysteriously turn up missing by the end of the week. However, this did not end the whole affair. As usual, with my staff, it was only the beginning.

I'm sure it's been the same case with friends you know, one friend is found looking quite attractive in drag in an old picture, then suddenly everyone is claiming they would look better dressed as a woman. If they want to make such claims and argue them over the water cooler, fine. If they want to host a private party where they all dress up just to prove a point, I have no problem with that either. When they start devoting an exorbitant amount of work time and personal finances to hosting websites where they are dressed as women, unbeknownst to site surfers, and ask people to rate their attractiveness in relation to each other, well, that's where I draw the line. Admittedly, my line-drawing was a little late on this occasion.

As I made clear to them yesterday, I will no longer tolerate randomly surfing for poontang and discovering one of my reporters wearing a teddy and garters. This also goes to the columnists and IT associates. Particularly Randy. Your news work is getting sloppy, the broadband out there is being tested, and I am sick of reading letters from lonely prisoners.

It is also a waste of time. It is quite clear Ivan Nacutchacokov is the real honey amongst you. Suck it up and give the queen his crown, fellas.


Quote of the Day
“My love is like a red, red wiiiine… go to my heaaaad… make me forgeeet… Wait. Sorry. My love is like a red, red rose… just like eeeeevery night has its daaaaaw- awawaaaan… Just like eeeevery cooowboy… Fuck.”

-A.D.Dobbs
Fortune 500 Cookie
Clowns don't hate you, they just feel sorry for you. Your "Don't Worry, Be Slappy" series of self-help books finally broke the five-copy sales barrier this week, and just got you sued by the estate of Slappy White. This week's lucky strikes: Clover-Workers' Union, ump didn't see ball careen off batter's jock and through strike zone, killed them all while they were dreaming about killing you, threw your ex-wife's severed head down lane on accident.


Try again later.
Top Worst Opening Lines to Novels
1.It was the best of times, no question about it.
2.Call me Crenshaw, Ishmael's brother.
3.I had been up for three days doing coke, paranoid they were going to catch me after I sunk the company with my idiotic business practices; then, my fa
4.I have only eaten three people in my life—this is that story.
5.So I said to my friend Charlie, "Hey, I'm going to write a novel where nothing at all happens," so welcome to it.
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