05/23/01

“It’s “Bring your daughter to work day” and the Wacky Office Prankster is getting his ass laid!”

Or at least that’s what I thought, as today began.

“I never knew there would be a plus to working with so many annoying, fat, middle aged housefraus, but today,” I thought to myself, “there may finally be some retribution.”

Every day, I sit and listen to these douchebags all day long, blabbing about their stupid lives and their dopey husbands and their near-retarded children. It’s almost too much to take. There’s one woman who is particularly bad, who we’ll call “Douchebag #1″. She’s constantly telling “cute” stories about something her kids did to anyone who will listen. She’s got twins, one boy, one girl, both freshmen in high school. I think their names are like Elmer and Sissy, or something.

“Oh, I gotta tell you. Elmer and Sissy did the funniest thing this weekend. You see, their prom was this weekend, and they didn’t want to go. So, they got together a bunch of other kids who weren’t going and they had an anti-prom! Oh, it was so funny. I let them have it at the house, because all the kids know I’m the cool mom because I let them do coke. . .” or something like that. It’s endless.

Understand that I have taken some small measures of revenge against Douchebag #1, like discretely placing bumper stickers on her mini-van that say, “I take it up the ass!” and “I like to suck black cocks”. These were very well received by the other soccer moms, as she sped young Elmer to practice. She would never notice them, because she always backs that fucking mini-van into her spot. (You know the type.) These acts have been satisfying, but never totally satisfying. I needed more.

Then one day, a couple of weeks ago, Douchebag #1 called me into her office. I’d never been in there before, and she seemed pretty nervous about having me there. She started rambling on about some task she wanted me to perform, but I was too busy surveying the place to listen. She had all these fucking plaques on the wall that said gay things like, “Is it Friday yet?” I also noticed that anything in her office that wasn’t a plaque was knitted. I think she had actually knitted her desk. As I was scanning around the office, I came across a framed picture. I interrupted her.

“Are these your kids?”

“Uh, yeah. . .that’s them at Halloween.”

She seemed extremely nervous at this point. I grabbed the picture and was inspecting it closely. They were dressed up as a cat and mouse, and Sissy, the girl, was the cat. I couldn’t believe how adorable this little kitten was. After hearing about her all this time, I’d never actually seen her until then. And, since her mother is so disgusting, I never thought that she could be beautiful, but she was.

I have a weird cat thing, too. Maybe it dates back to the fact that I was physically attracted to Courageous Cat from the Courageous Cat and Minute Mouse cartoons. Now, I have defended myself many times on this topic, and I don’t care what anyone says. That is not gay. Courageous Cat was much more feminine than masculine, and you know what? Fuck it. He was a piece of ass.

Anyway, I asked to be excused, and took the picture with me to the bathroom. I proceeded to do horrible, horrible things with it.

Later that week, I was flipping through my calendar, and noticed that “Bring Your Daughter To Work Day” was coming up. It was on. I went though a rigorous training regimen for the next few weeks, which consisted of exhausting enemas, application of self tanning creams, and lots and lots of masturbating. This was all done while “Eye Of The Tiger” blasted on my stereo. I would be ready for Sissy The Cat Girl.

When today finally came, I had a rush of thoughts flowing though my head. I wondered if this would be the ultimate revenge, after all. I knew I would charm her, and ultimately pummel her into erotic ecstacy, but then she would, no doubt, fall in love with me. I wasn’t sure if that was what I wanted. I mean, she didn’t even drive a cool, cat-shaped car. Actually, I don’t even think she drove at all. Plus, if we became a couple, I’d have to do all the usual boring couple things and I’d have to see Douchebag #1 all the time and we’d probably have to hang out at her house (which was probably knitted) and before you know it we’d be married and I’d be backing my fucking mini-van into my parking spot. I was very confused. I spent the morning pacing back and forth in front of Douchebag #1′s office, but she didn’t show right away, so I went back to my office and took a nap.

I was awakened by the sound of that douchey cackle, so I jumped to my feet, put my pants on and ran out of my office. There she was. It was Sissy The Cat Girl, and Elmer was with her. They were in Douchebag #1′s office, and a bunch of other housewives were in there oohing and ahhing over Elmer’s soccer camp stories. I stood and stared.

I began to drink her in, but then noticed that a few things were very wrong. First of all, she wasn’t even wearing the cat outfit. Then, seeing her next to Douchebag #1 really drove home the fact that she was related to her. They even had a similar douchey cackle. As I was absorbing all of this, I heard someone yell, “That’s him!”

The next few moments are kind of a blur, but I think what happened was that Elmer furiously and thouroughly kicked my ass. I fell on the ground, and he was stomping me as the other housewives cheered him on. Now, it hurt to get beaten to a bloody pulp by a fifteen year old boy, but the thing that hurt the most was that Sissy was kicking me too. I mean, despite my fear of commitment, we did have something. For her to do this to me? It’s changed me, people.

You have witnessed the last romantic moment in the life of the Wacky Office Prankster. Never will I love again. I will cherish the feeling of Sissy The Cat Girl’s sweet, perfumed, sandaled feet repeatedly crushing my throat, but never will I love again.

You know how you get shit on your finger sometimes when you wipe your ass? Well, that kind of sums up the kind of week the Wacky Office Prankster has been having. Metaphorically. Well, I DID get shit on my finger, but it’s a metaphor, too.

You see, I went into the office real early the other morning, like 7 AM. Some of you might not realize this, but being the crazy office guy takes alot of work and preparation. I spend about 10 hours a day planning stunts and writing my witty wise cracks for staff meetings and water cooler “bull” sessions.

Here’s an example of what I’m talking about: Bob from Research and Akinwale from Sales were standing by the coffee machine the other day talking about the show “Survivor”. That’s typical coffee break conversation. Boring. Mundane. Predictable. What it needed was a little dash of wackiness from yours truly. So, as I was quietly adding my Kahlua and crushed Prozac powder to my coffee, I listened intently, and waited for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Bob says, “Yeah, I don’t know. I think that chick from Long Island is annoying, but I’d probably do her.” Then Akinwale, “Yeah, I’d probably do her too.” At that moment, with the expert timing of a seasoned Vaudevillian, I cleverly added, “The holocaust was a complete hoax!” I began laughing hysterically, and then crying hysterically. After that, I took a nap on the floor until about noon. Pure gold.

That stuff doesn’t just happen, though. It takes planning. I took a vacation last year, and tried out some new material by temping at some other office buildings. When I tried that bit without the nap, people just didn’t get it.

Anyway, back to my original point. It was 7 am, and I was taking a dump (in the bathroom). Even then I was observing, plotting, thinking…”Hey, maybe the old cherry bomb in the toilet or some rotten eggs up in the ceiling panel.” I was focused, and my stomach was a little out of sorts, probably due to the 50 wings and 8 beers I had for breakfast. But I guess I wasn’t focused on my ass, and got shit on my finger. I freaked out and jumped up off the toilet to run and wash my hand off, but I slipped and hit my head on the stall door. Then, I landed on the bathroom floor head first. I cracked my fucking skull, and was left unconscious.

No one called the ambulance until around 3 because, even though they kept walking in and saw me lying there with my pants around my ankles in a pool of blood and urine with shit all over my hands, they thought it was a joke.

I pulled off another one without even trying, even though I did suffer severe head trauma and have been speaking Chinese since I came to. It also burns when I blink. Oh well. Tears of a clown, baby. Tears of a clown.

I just punched my boss right in his fucking face.

At first glance one would think that this was a hostile act but actually it was just a playful office prank. The series of events that lead to this playful gesture were all harmless in their intent. You see, I am the office prankster. You may have someone like me in your office. I play wacky little practical jokes on my colleagues to keep the mood light when work is becoming stressful. I am greatly appreciated by my fellow employees because without me around, “things would be so dull”.

It all started with little jokes like knocking on someones office door and then running down the hall, giggling and hiding, putting thumbtacks on the toilet seats or the occasional wedgie in the break room. As my reputation as the Wacky Office Prankster grew I started to feel pressure to perform. Afterall, I take my job seriously and didn’t want to do a half assed job. So, I started doing things like pissing on the kitchen floor and pretending that I was “confused” and thought I was in the bathroom. Or accidentally walking into the ladies room and saying, “Well since I’m already in here…”

Everyone loved this stuff. But the pressure to perform was mounting. Most of my pranks revolved around my bodily fluids, which is just my style, but I only have so many fluids. So I arranged to have Phyllis from Accounting’s daughter kidnapped for a couple days. I paid some guy $100 to kidnap this girl from day care and hold her in a warehouse for three days while I left phony (and hilarious, I might add) ransom notes. After I let on that it was just a prank we all had a good laugh about it (except Phyllis, who had a nervous breakdown).

Anyway, after shitting on the president’s desk and projectile vomiting on the Friday morning bagels in front of everyone, I was basically out of ideas. Was this the end of the Wacky Office Prankster? I mean, I’m not a very bright man or even particularly creative for that matter. So, I figured if I was going to retire then I’d go out with a bang.

So, about 20 minutes ago I walked into the executive conference room while my boss was in a very important meeting with prospective clients and punched him right in the fucking face as hard as I could. It was hilarious. I was dying. Oh, yeah I was naked too. I thought that was just the right touch. I just heard one of the EMT’s say something about a broken jaw bone, but hey, we all have to sacrifice a little, you know. I think morale will be quite high for a while.