Posts tagged Work
- Me: Just use Facebook allow for site logins
- Co-workers: That's ridiculous, what if they don't have Facebook?
- Me: THEN THEY ARE OUTSIDE IN THE SUN LIKE WE SHOULD BE, YOU NINNY.
LOWER MANHATTAN, 1916.
LADY PLUMBFACE, a short, creative (disobedient) twenty-something, is ‘sad Charlie’ Brown’ing by the pier. She has just been fired from her internship at the factory. It is a baby factory that is also her vagina. She arrives at her sometimes fuck-buddy’s estate, SIR RAPIEST, who’s correspondence etiquette is definitely terrible. Men!
LADY PLUMBFACE: Sir Rapiest! Sir Rapiest! I know you’re in there!
Sir Rapiest appears at the door. He has a body that makes insecure ladies compromise their morals in order to slide down his chest like a water park, but has a face like a barrel of shit. He is naked except for an 18 year old hanging off of his cock.
LADY PLUMBFACE: You haven’t been answering any of my letters!
SIR RAPIEST: What letters?! You can’t read or write! You are a lady! A lady cannot have thoughts or ideas!
The 18 year old removes her mouth from Sir Rapiest’s cock, her face flush with defiance and just a little bit of pubes.
LADY SLUT: We certainly can have thoughts!
As she stops to ponder this idea, her head immediately explodes, ruining a perfectly good Ottoman. Lady Plumbface pushes past Sir Rapiest and plants herself firmly on the chaise.
LADY PLUMBFACE: My baby factory is closing, but there hasn’t even been an accident there in weeks!
Sir Rapiest wipes the blood of his cock, and on to a nearby lute.
SIR RAPIEST: You mean not one baby has died in your factory this month? I blame this solely on your looks and face!
Lady Plumbface gurgles wildly.
LADY PLUMBFACE: I have hopes! And dreams!
They pause for a second, before lunging at each other. Lady Plumbface assumes the sexiest position she knows, completely upright chewing on her fingernails. They engage in a hilariously awkward sex-scene where at one point Lady Plumbface passes vaginal gas, and Sir Rapiest, stricken with boredom, paints a picture of a dog playing cricket. Sir Rapiest finishes painting the dog white, and THEN finishes the painting on the canvas! (HBO = risque).
SIR RAPIEST: They baby should come to full term in 9 months, but I suggest you fall down some stairs around the 4 month mark
Lady Plumbface looks at him wistfully.
LADY PLUMBFACE: I love you so much
SIR RAPIEST: Get out of my house, cunt (HBO)
Next week on ‘LADIES’. Lady Plumbface smokes the deeds to the Dowagers estate and ruptures a spinal cord trying to talk about the economy.
2010 was a V spicy year filled with hundreds of work drunk-ing, and an endless list of ways I let my co-workers know that I like to make sausages fight. Two years later, I’ve started a new job, and it’s important to get the word out fast that you like to watch men hurt each other. Here’s some quick SEXY ways to FLIRT-ILY let them know u a FGGT:
- Change your email signature to have neato descriptors, like “Marshall Lorenzo | Rockford Peach”, “Marshall Lorenzo | Santa Scott-Claus”, and “Marshall Lorenzo | Bish Disher”
- Instead of saying “I’m really busy right now”, try “I’m really Busy Phillips right now”
- Pink everything
- P!nk everything
- That Smiths song that’s playing is not “That Smiths Song” it’s “The theme song to ‘Charmed’!!!”
- Try and communicate key points as Donatella Versace would: with backup dancers
- Pretend not to know how to use the printer. Laugh and giggle while you bend over trying to jam the paper in and out, and exclaim “I’m such a stupid slut!”
- Say you need to leave early on Wednesdays because “Woody’s has a 2 for 1 margarita special and Thursdays are not an option now that Jaden works Thursdays and WHY HASN’T HE APOLOGISED FOR WHAT HE DID??? DOES HE THINK I CAN’T FUCKING SEE HIS TWEETS???”
- You can’t eat salads because you’re on an all air diet, because you’re such a Martha Dumptruck right now. Cry for four days
- Wooden floors are a runway. Every once in a while, fall over on them ala Bradshaw. Cry for four days
Follow these LUSTY examples and with a few days, they’ll know FOR SURE who you bat for, and maybe if you’re a catcher! Unless of course anyone you work with has EYES. U stupid fggt.
What’s the date? Can I truly be me? What is a life.com? In case you hadn’t noticed this blog isn’t very bloggy in the traditional sense, can I get an agree! Is it because I’m busy? Oh my, no. I’m freelancing at the moment while trying to do the funnies. Comedy is for poors! SO HERE IS WHERE YOU HELP: I make you websites!
- Do you need a websites? I can make website for cheap money and love and attention to the details.
- Got low self-esteem? A webplace will cheer you up 24/7 x1,000,000. Remember what Myspace felt like in 2002? Get that feeling back* *feeling is like Dorito chips!
- Website improves respiratory problems trifold
- Are not a website owner? This is cause for problems like sexual abuse, physical abuse and other non-digital traumas.
- Don’t be one of those people that does not digital Monday (and other days). Be part of the flock by showing them your rap abilities - online!
- Rosie O’Donnell has a website. Why don’t you?
Call now by emailing me direct online. Don’t get gingivitis by not calling.
I wrote this a few months ago for my company, and they never posted it! It didn’t even have any of the fucks or cunts that are usually associated with Marshall! Anyway, it makes some super obvious and age-old points about web design, that I feel need to be shoved down peoples throats until things like Internet Explorer are not a thing. Or until we are no longer needed (2015???). I’ve got a few places we can start, and I apologise for all the ‘KANYE’ CAPS LOCK VOICE, but I’ve said a lot of this stuff MANY times, SO (bullets!):
- Treat the design of your website the same as you would treat the design of your print work, why CAN’T it be awesome??? The canvas you have to paint on is endless! We no longer live by the confines of tiny screens. Except for iphones, but like, what is that even?! It’s not even ever.
- BIG IMAGERY! Our internets can handle the file size, and everyone likes the bigger picture, figuratively and literally! So don’t shy away from FULL BLEED - ALL OF THE TIMES.
- Actually, bigger EVERYTHING! BIG-ASS TYPE SIZE. Because why not? 12px is so two-thousand-and-late (I promise I will never use this Black Eyed Peas reference ever again).
- Constantly be asking yourself ‘does that need to be there?’ The ‘home’ link, the ‘intro’ paragraph, etc. When your designing a poster for something, do you include extraneous bullshit information? Not unless your poster is for lame.
- Never be told ‘it can’t be done’ because it can. Trust me, you can’t see me at the moment, but I’m doing it right now.
- Get friendly with the client! Like, REALLY friendly - Go out for a drink! It’s easier to talk about the touchy feely design crap in an office setting when you’ve seen each other do a rendition of ‘Poker Face’ really badly, and pantless.
- Finally, buy an iPad. Look at how their interface is designed. It waits for NO ONE, if you find yourself describing interaction with a series of ‘swoosh’ noises - CORRECT, you are doing it right.
So you should totally do all of those things, or not - whatever. I can’t tell you what to do, until of course they pass that legislation where they force teachers to talk about web design to your kids. Which sounds pretty fucking grim, doesn’t it? This advice: Heed it. Make it hode.
(I know right! So much fun) But it’s beginning to dawn on me, that most starsigns are… rather nice? And it’s only really Leo’s (me) that are jerks? “Pompous and patronizing, bossy and interfering, dogmatic and intolerant, self centered and showoffs.” - I always thought Scorpios were worse??? …Such a Leo thing to say *flips hair*.
After 16 years of lottery fixing, check forging and general financial trickery - it’s beginning to dawn on me that my life will never turn out like the 1994 movie ‘Blank Check’. So as to not relive broken dreams - I will not be attending your work ‘fun day’ of Go-Karting.
Currently signing contracts and filling out paperwork. Ungh, wish I had some teeny tiny paperwork signing glasses. … and a teeny tiny little briefcase. …made of candy.
I can’t sleep. Tomorrow I find out if I get a job in Melbourne, for a place i’d very much like to work at. They sounded enthusiastic, and I think it’s a done deal, but ya know, don’t get ya hopes up kiddo! Anyway, IF SUCCESSFUL, it means I have to start the move, ship my shit, sort my finances, find a place, deal with all the other loose ends, and burn my bridges with a big FUCK YOU to Auckland and it’s lack of charisma. Because I am going to faggett so hard in Melbourne you have no idea. I’m not talking about sex, I’m talking about short-shorts, winkle-pickers, hair you could sell to a sex dungeon and sauvignon like you’ve never SEEN. Tomorrow i’m going into that military store next door that sells old uniforms, and buying so much authority your dog will shit when I look at it.
PS: If I get the job i’m drinking that $100 bottle of red I got in the divorce.
PPS: If you’re reading this, you knew you weren’t getting it back, so deal *flips hair*
…and I show up to work this morning (late) and everyone has dressed up as …me. It was the creepiest thing to come to work to ever. To have twenty five people all wearing big hair, fake glasses and bow ties - what a sight. Chest bumps to you all, and special props to the toddler who came in wearing a bow tie. Mad cute.