Couldn't Make This Up Nine to Five Random

Really? You’re gonna act like this is normal?

February 23, 2009 – 9:31 am

We have a pretty high turn around in one department of my office.  (Not my department.  There’s actually people lined up wanting to work with me… In hopes they can get a glimpse of my awesome…)  (LIE.)  (Complete and total.)  It’s all women and we all know us gals can get a little catty from time to time, but it’s also because of the amount of stress that certain job entails.  (Why am I acting like I can’t tell you what these people do?  They’re doctor’s secretaries… What is wrong with me?)  (Don’t answer that.)

Anyways, around Christmas we had an unfortunate incident. (And by unfortunate I mean COMEDY GOLD.)  It was right after our staff Christmas luncheon and everyone was fairly full considering all the food we had just consumed.  So, out of nowhere a coworker scurries into the secretaries’ supervisor’s office and says, “Uh… You need to come down here.  There’s something wrong with Jane.”  And Jane is, well, you know, not exactly a spring chicken, in fact, Jane is more like a sixty-something-year-old chicken,  so she books it allllll the way down to the other end of the building…  And there she finds Jane.  Under her desk.  Curled up.  She screamed out her name, “Jane!  Jane, are you ok???”  And Jane, a little disoriented considering she was right in the middle of a NAP, says, “Oh yeah, I’m fine.  I’m just taking a nap.”

LIKE IT WAS NO BIG DEAL.

Like hey, taking a nap is perfectly normal. 

Well, sure, Jane it actually is normal ON A SATURDAY WHEN YOU’RE NOT AT WORK.

She didn’t try to cover it up.  She didn’t try to deny that she was sleeping.  No use of the old “The blood center said this might happen…” trick…  No saying, “Oh I was just looking for something I dropped on the ground.”  No saying ANYTHING except, “Oh yeah, I was taking a nap.”

Do I really need to tell you she was fired on the spot?  Do I?  Because if sleeping under your desk while at work isn’t grounds for dismissal I’m going to start bringing in my sleeping bag every day for the rest of my life.

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Abso Ridic Couldn't Make This Up Random The Haps

Suggestions for VD… If You’re a Dollar Menunaire.

February 13, 2009 – 1:39 pm

So, let’s do a little survey? (Not an actual survey… I mean, I can’t very well sit here and wait for your answers or there wouldn’t be a post, now would there?) What do you think of when I say “White Castle?”

Oh?  What’s that?

Drunken nights?

Hangover prevention food?

Me passed out in the middle of my living room with no pants on covered only by a Dance, Dance, Revolution mat, surrounded by empty White Castle boxes with little onions and pickles around my head only AFTER I’ve been outside in my front yard telling my friends that I need to go to the gas station with them regardless of the fact that I’m not currently wearing pants?  (Oh.  Wait.  Is that just me?  Ok, fine… Things escalated quickly… My boyfriend was a bartender… I… I… I don’t know what happened.  But I will say, that Dance, Dance Revolution mat made a mighty fine hobo blanket…)

Anyways, back to the point… Who here thinks of the following picture when you think of White Castle???

Hot and steamy night at the Castle?!  NEED RESERVATIONS?!  Who reserves a table at White Castle???  I don’t think I’ve ever been inside one… I mean, isn’t most of their business drive-through business???  This… This… This is an outrage!  Clearly, the Castle is giving people the wrong idea.  That idea being that WHITE CASTLE IS A SUITABLE DINING EXPERIENCE FOR VALENTINE’S DAY.

Just for anyone who might be confused and need clarification:  IT’S NOT.

Weigh in on this, Musin.

[Musin Here]

Shit! Damn it Itty, you blew my surprise…now I will have to find another trendy ultra classy top notch late night junk-food house to use for Vday–PAH! As if! (remember that? I haven’t heard someone use that in decades) I think it is better off left alone, mayhaps.

Please, can someone find out/guess how much they had to pay those people on the flier to forever be the laughing stock of America (and AH). They are now the poster children of FAIL. As in, did they REALLY pick up the phone, dial 718-899-8404, plug in the appropriate extension,  make reservations for Valentines Day @ White Castle, invite a date, and take the date out to a stove-lit candlelit dinner for Valentines Day at White Castle? Who the font would subject them self to such fuckry? *Looks up at the pics of the people on the flier, ah welp! Tough break!

Also, In looking further into this terribly bad idea I discovered instead of this stove-lit dinner (eff it, it is what it is), you could bring home to your lovey a “Cupid Crave Kit”, HA! This featuring eight cheeseburgers, one sack of fries, two sodas, and a “keepsake item”. WOOT! A keepsake item from White Castle? What could that be, Grease?

Clev, please weigh in on this.

[Wait!  Itty here again... I just came to the realization that this is a legitimate phone number... As in one that they think people are actually going to call...  My guess?  You dial 1-800-I'm-A-Douche and you get the exact same thing... The White Castle Special V-Day Reservations Hotline...  Imagine the people working on the other end of the line... "White Castle Hotline, reservations for 2?" all the meanwhile thinking to theirself  "Life really doesn't get any lower than this and you, fair customer, really ARE a douchebag..."]

Stop hogging Itty! [Oh, Clev here]

You want to know how outrageous this is? Well, a friend of mine once went into a White Castle after a drunken night. Before entering the eatery (pah!) he noticed a bum needy-looking individual perched up by the door. Now, my friend (the thoughtful individual that he is) thoughtfully (duh) remembered this man while ordering his food, even in his drunken state.

After the cashier rings up the order, he grabs the two separate bags, heads out the door, and gleefully hands the man the bag. The man reluctantly takes the bag, peeks inside and frowns. THEN, he crumples the bag back up and hands it to my friend and replies, “no thanks.”

And THIS is the place to take a Valentine’s date? Me thinks not..

Oh and can someone please call! If someone calls, make reservations and goes, I’ll pay for it.

Shite! There is a website. Oh, they go hard (like Brooklyn). Their tagline is…”Valentine’s Day at the LOVE Castle” PAH!

Happy VD kids!  No, not that kind…Sickos.
Team AH.

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Abso Ridic Couldn't Make This Up Random

Snuggie: Warm Blanket or Cultic Garb?

February 4, 2009 – 1:39 pm

So,

Somehow these blasted blankets are selling like hot cakes (hmm, how many hot cakes can one really sell though…). Anyways, this is very wild to me. After seeing this infomercial a time or few, I realized how they manage to sell so many of these. It isn’t just a warm blanket with convenient sleeves, clearly it’s the last and final adornment needed to gain membership into the obvious Snuggie CULT. Please take another look at the infomercial after reading the points below:

1) WHY does the lady rhyme in the first few lines of this thing? I bet you didn’t think of this before, but clearly she is some form of soothsayer-eqsue cult leader trying to penetrate your mind with rythmical lines. We won’t go for it Snuggie; CULT!

2) Now, the lady on the phone. Who do you think she is talking to? Ah ha! You guessed it too, clearly she is speaking with the Chief of the Snuggie Cult providing a live update on the progress of the commercial/takeover. Here is a little known fact for you all: They cut away right before she begins tapping her fingers together in a mischievous fashion while sporting an evil grin. This while the light is only on her face, the rest of the room fading into shadows (*insert evil laugh here). This is all true.

3) If this was such a nice item for caring everyday folks trying to stay warm then WHY is mom wrapped up all toasty yet infant is stuck to endure the cold. You know what kind of people administer such torture to babies? CULT!

(Also, I think she just poisoned that puppy)

4) Who would really go out as a large group to a camp fire ALL wearing burgundy colored cult robes Snuggie’s? I know who, members of a CULT. They just used those same sticks holding the marshmallows to  slay the sacrificial goat, this is fact.

5) These guys are smart little cult followers. They wore these things to a large sporting event (Okay, maybe not that large of an event but give me a break here) ? Clearly they went out in numbers to recruit for…you guessed it, the CULT!

6) The Compact press and Open book light, all a lie. That is just fancy housing for some poisonous potion placed in “cups of tea” (as shown in the commercial).

I mean, who would really own one of these? Why not just put on a Sweater? I don’t get it, i don’t. However, Rumor has it someone that happens to read this here blog is actually a PROUD member of the Snuggie cult owner if this ridiculous armed blanket. I won’t call any names though…

Even worse, they have  major competitor, the mighty  SLANKET! The Snuggie vs. Slanket rivalry is really heating up, too bad I don’t care at all. Rumor also has it that someone that reads and writes for this blog (who owns a SNUGGIE) is thoroughly interested in doing away with said Snuggie, and switching to the Slanket clan! This is only the beginning, and I’m afraid to say I have no idea of where this will end.

*prays.

Be good now.

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Random

W. Itty Tells a Story From Her Youth…

January 27, 2009 – 12:16 pm

Back when I first got my license (1996… I am old… Just call me grandma…) we only had to wait one month after getting our permit.  ONE MONTH!  Thirty measly little days and we were free to take the BIG test to see if we could handle the roads on our own.  I waited exactly thirty days, not one day more, before I headed to that little concrete building to take my driving test, all the while praying that I didn’t get the fabled teacher who was old and mean and blind in one eye because of some kid who wrecked into her BEFORE he got his license…  (Not even kidding… We were always told about this wretched old lady who would fail us with one look from her one good eye…)  My mom and I pulled up to the building and she got out and left me alone to wait for my teacher.  It was an old lady.  With a scowl etched into her face.  But she wasn’t wearing a patch on her so I breathed a sigh of relief.  Score one for little Itty…

She slid into the passenger seat and off we went.  I passed with flying colors.  My only mistake was not putting the parking brake on after I parallel parked.  (Uh.. Hello!  Completely flat road!  Why on earth would I need my parking brake?!)  Anyways, all of this is NOT the point of my story.  (Yeah.  I’m a rambler.  What of it?)

Six months later I was cruising freely thinking I OWNED this driving nonsense.  Parallel parking?  No problemo, compadre.  Oh you want me to pick up some other unforunate unlicensed soul for a ride to school?  Gladly.  These curvy country roads I take every day on my way to and from school?  Pshaw.  Under control. 

That is until that one fateful morning where I thought I’d be a badass and pass this old rickety truck with my sleek little Mazda 929…  Oh wait.. Forgot to mention that this was in January and there were excessive amounts of black ice covering the roads.  So, you can guess where this is going… I passed the truck with ease and then promptly hit black ice, slid across the road, overcorrected went BACK across the road, bounced off a tree and threw my car into a pond.  (What?  You’re telling me you didn’t know exactly where this story was going?)  So, let’s re-evaluate… Here I am, sixteen years old, car windows completely busted out on one side, half of my car (MY HALF) is sinking in freezing cold water, and I have Snoop’s “Doggystyle” album effing BLARING from my cd player… I even remember the song that was playing as I climbed out of the other side.  “Pump, Pump…”  No, you shut up.

I manage to get myself out of the pond and back up onto the road when I decided that I need to tuck my long, blonde hair behind my ear and get myself together.  It’s cool, I’m fine… OMG WHY IS MY HAND COVERED IN BLOOD?!  WHY IS MY SHIRT COVERED IN BLOOD?!  WHY DOES MY EARLOBE FEEL LIKE IT’S KIND OF FLAPPING OR SOMETHING?!  Oh.  Simple.  Those busted windows?  Yeah, they were made of glass.  Glass that was broken out by a very sharp tree branch which also decided to almost completely lop my left ear off.  Awesome.

A few minutes later, as I’m laying on the side of the road convinced that my brain is more than likely falling out of my skull, this truck driver passes me and pulls over to see if I need help.  Me?  Need help?  What gave you that impression?  Could it be my car that’s behind me slowly sinking into that pond?  Or maybe it’s my shirt soaked in blood?  Whichever reason tipped you off, YES I NEED HELP.

(Sidenote:  This helpful citizen also happened to be the slow poke I passed going sixty on icy roads.  Who’s got two thumbs and is an asshole??  THIS GIRL!)

My aunt, who lived next door to me, was on her way taking her daughter to school when she passed the pond with my pitiful car in it.  I, on the other hand, was up at some house trying to notify my mom that I had maybe just cut my ear off.  Add these two together and you have my aunt who thinks that I’ve wrecked my car, passed out and drowned in a pond…  So, I come back to wait by my car and I see my aunt, in the middle of the pond, crying her eyes out and screaming my name repeatedly…  Dude, what are you doing?  I’m right here.  I’ve only got one ear (total exaggeration of a dramatic sixteen year old), but I’m right here. 

She pulls herself together and gets me home where I’m met by my mom AND grandparents.  I got taken to the hospital where I sat around and waited to be called back.  I had to answer a bunch of questions that my sixteen year old mind couldn’t wrap my brain around.  Why?  Because they were so stupid, that’s why.

Are you seriously injured?  I dunno, lady.  I’m holding a washcloth to my head where blood just happens to be gushing out.  I actually just thought I’d take the day off for a field trip to the ER.

Was there alcohol involved in the accident?  It’s 8am, I’m sixteen and I was on my way to school.  If I was boozing it up before noon on a school day I’m going to go ahead and say I have bigger problems than just my wonk ear at the moment.

Are you having trouble breathing?   Nope, but  I am getting a little dizzy from the blood loss…

Doc finally comes and takes me back… I get a grand total of 23 stitches in my head.  I did not by any means chop my entire ear off, nor was I deaf in one ear which were the rumors that were going around school when I got back a few days later.  My little Mazda was totaled, but, dude, I completely salvaged that Snoop cd…

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About us Couldn't Make This Up Seriously Funny The Haps

Musin makes it to Barack’s Inauguration

January 22, 2009 – 4:18 pm

HUGE day for the world! Big for America yes, but the impact this man has surely transcends globally. I am beyond excited to be able to say that “I was there” for Barack’s Big Day.

I’ll spare you all the details of the gruesome commute. Just know this; never get on a bus filled with MP3 blasting teenagers at 2am going from NY to DC on Barack Obama’s Inauguration day. Got it? Good.

(*fast forwards to the good part.)

… and I had to take a wicked leak! Too bad everywhere was closed — aside from the nearby homeless shelter. Am I homeless? No. Will I use their facilities to relieve my bladder, yes! So I wait in line while my sister waits outside for my return.

I must let you all know that with the ice cold temperatures I HAD to resort to desperate measures. By this I mean I took 4 sheets of bounty and stuffed each of my sneakers as a form of insulation. You would be surprised at how pleased I was with the results. So with my hot hands (great product) and stuffed shoes I rejoined the trek, but where was everyone else? Uhh, gone!

At this point it’s just me myself and I amidst the millions of civilians vying for prime positioning to enter the event. Phones weren’t working well and I had no ticket so at this point I was just being completely non-productive, losing. While wandering I stumbled upon a LARGE CROWD of folks in what was supposed to be a line. A line to what? Who knows, I wasn’t in a rush so eff it. I joined said line and threw on the headphones and churned out some optimism from out of nowhere. I then feel this sea of people begin to move towards what seems to be an entrance to the National Mall.

An official then took the megaphone and announced (in the most angelic voice), “Only Purple ticket holders are being admitted through this gate, ONLY PURPLE TICKET holders, you will be turned back without a purple ticket.” Shit, didn’t matter to me, I had NO ticket so I had nothing to lose anyways. I roughed it out in line while being subjected to inadvertent verbal abuse. Comments like, “We all have purple tickets, let us in! What dumb ass would stand in this long ling without a ticket?!”

:/…*Raises hand. Dumb ass present.

At this point I was WAY too close to throw in the towel. So I bundled up and tossed all my hopes in a bucket. This bucket carried me to the front of the line to meet a squadron of officers. Shit! It was at this point I ducked a little and cut to the middle of the crowd amongst the mass of people fervently waiving their purple tickets in the air to gain admission. I acted as if I was freezing and kept my hands together and stayed low only to make it though the ticket check, I was free! Everyone else in front of me jumped for joy when they gained access so eff it, I faked the funk and did the same. Hands in the air, jumping and all…this in efforts of getting away from the cops as FAST as possible. After getting inside I stumbled upon stranded purple ticket and pocketed it just in case. Talk about fake it ‘til you make it. That’s how it all happened, and the rest, was history (major pun).

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Image Courtesy of Steven Clarke

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