You guys know those gel wrist pad things you get for keyboards and mice? I never wanted one, and I told my boss I didn’t want it, but he said I gotta get one and they were going to be checking to see if I was using it, and I told him that he was running a fucking sweat shop and that this was oppression and that I was going to lead the workers on a strike, but I told him all that stuff after I got back to my desk and he wasn’t there to hear it. But I gave him a look before I left his office and I’m pretty sure he got the message anyway.
Boy, am I mad right now!
Okay, so, do you guys know what Ergonomics are? I always thought they were they thing everybody hated Ronald Reagan for, but maybe I was mixing it up with that affair he had with that Iran Contra lady. I’ve never been able to find any pictures of her, all I can find are Time Magazine covers and pictures of some general named Ollie.
Anyways, last week we all got called into this one dude’s office. I don’t know what he does, I just know he always wears sweaters and he has really small eyes and he reminds me of Kenneth Brannigan. So, he says, “Today we’re going to learn about Ergonomics,” and immediately I zone out because I start thinking about that Spitting Image show with the puppets of Ronald and Nancy Reagan that used to be on TV, and that gets me thinking about that fucked up Phil Collins video with those puppets in it and then I start humming the I Can’t Dance song and pretty soon everybody’s staring at me like I’m the weird one, even here’s this guy with tiny, itty-bitty little eyes talking about how we’re supposed to sit up straight and do stretches every hour and a bunch of other bullshit.
“Bob, we’ve noticed that you slump when you sit in your chair, and your palms are flat on the keyboard and that can cause work-related injuries and we want to curtail that sort of thing, we we’re getting you a new chair and a wrist pad for your keyboard.”
Well, I was okay with the chair, but when I got the wrist pad thing I immediately hated it, because it reminds me of one of those giant Gummi Worms and it tastes awful, and I don’t want to be shackled down to one of those stupid old-people devices. What’s next, a back brace?
So I went to my boss’s office and I told him I didn’t want to use it and that it reminded me of one of those double-dongs they sell in porno shops, and that gives me an idea for a joke, so I borrow a handful of Jergen’s lotion from a coworker’s desk and I lube that sucker up and I stick it in my butt and start running around, wiggling my ass back and forth really hard so the end of it swings up and slaps my skin, making this loud, awesome sound screaming, “I’m a duck! I’m a duck!” I don’t think ducks have tails like that, but I was in the moment, you know?
Anyways, the security guy runs up – by now I was up on Carol’s desk and bucking my hips so the gel thing would swing up and down between my legs – and he’s like, “Kowchanski, get the heck down from there!” and he reaches for his taser, and I’m like, “Fuck that!” because getting tazed sucks, so I pulled the gel thing out and started slapping him in the face with the stinky end.
By the way, if you ever find yourself in a similar position, please take your time pulling the gel pad out of your butthole, because it turns out the edges on the bottom are kinda sharp and I gave myself some paper cuts inside my rectum.
Also I got fired, which is another reason to be careful with a gel pad.
But it never would have happened if they’d just let me type like a free man, without the stupid gel pad.
They let me keep it, though. I’m gonna surprise my brother with that joke, later, after my rectum heals up.