MARCH 20: Koy Korn, 38, was found dead in a ricefield about 350 meters from his house in Pon Riay village, Tbaung Khmum district, Kampong Cham. Police said the victim was chopped several times in the neck and shoulder with a big knife while catching frogs in his ricefield. Revenge was the suspected motive as the victim was accused of having recently stolen cows.
_sdc_-: ok, this Britney/Christina thing is getting a little out of hand.
_sdc_-: Christina has the Grammys handed to her, Britney no-shows…Britney gets the Pepsi deal, Christina signs with Coke…
markus-: fuck this “feuding”, them, whipped cream, my bedroom, now.
_sdc_-: will they just put aside their differences already and devote their time to sucking my cock?
markus-: hahaha
markus-: great minds think alike
_sdc_-: I mean, that’s the only important thing in this world.
_sdc_-: hot chicks sucking my cock.
markus-: well, actually, mind has nothing to do with this.
_sdc_-: nothing else matters.
markus-: I wouldn’t trust Britney to suck “good” cock
markus-: Christina though, she has it written all over her.
_sdc_-: actually, i’m being very callous. that’s not really true.
_sdc_-: anal sex is also very, very important.
markus-: yes, quite.
markus-: see, that’s where Britney comes in
…called “Black Jism”.
Goes a little something like this:
I am the bringer of the cataclysm
Gonna coat you with my…BLACK JISM!!!!!
Not a bad lyric, that…
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 need food, I need more lesbians (send resumes here), and I really think it’d be awesome to leave a flaming bag of dog shit on Jay Stile’s front porch, and videotape what happens.
Ever get lonely?
Don’t you ever feel phony?
Ain’t the train going slowly?
They say it’s gonna get snowy
Don’t you ever feel holy?
And think you wanna be a yogi?
What a load of baloney!
Do you wanna come home with me?
Don’t you ever get lonely?
Don’t you ever get…
-Matt Johnson
