Monday, October 11, 2010

Superfreaks: The Haggis Award!

I enjoy my lunch.  I love a good sammich and maybe some Cheezy Poofs or sometimes I like to roam out and get a half slab of ribs, slathered in barbque sauce, washed down with two or three pints tea.  Ya, that's right, ice tea.

But most of all, I like my quiet time.

What I don't like is being interrupted!  It's my lunch and you can't have it.

I work with a group of fucknuggets that feel this is their right though.  It seems that as soon as I duck out and head toward the break room, someone feels the need to follow me in.

Why?   How the fuck should I know.  But they do.

That isn't entirely true.  Sorry.  No, what usually happens is as soon I get my can of chili rotating in the microwave or have pulled my PB&J unwrapped and then pull my book or laptop from my bag and have settled in for a few minutes of 'my fucking' time, this is the point in which they come storming in.

"What ya reading?" Overtly Gay Chris asks.

"Well, you bag of rhino snot, I'm not sure yet, 'cause I just started reading it but I bet if I overtly shoved it up your ass you might have a better understanding, in order to let me know, because you know what?  I can't fricken read because you feel the need to bug the shit out of me each time I sit in this particular chair!"

Or this.  I sit down, pull out my laptop, my left over spaghetti with meatballs warming up and sure as Toyota has faulty brakes, here comes Jovial Lab Manager Guy.  "Hey, is that one of those fandangled doohickys that you can get the Interwebs on?"

"No, you asshamper, it's a box of deathrays, and if you don't move along right now, I'm going to fry that slug shaped brain of yours!"

"Uh...really?  It can do that?"

Not the most tech savvy guy out there.  There isn't much I can do about that, other than fuck with the computer in his lab.  Every once in a while I'll change the screensaver to read 


or I might turn the power button to off on his printer.  Fun stuff and keeps him reeling for hours, until, finally, I like to suggest to him that it "must be home office changing the configuration on your computer and you might want to give IT a call."  This always brings outrageous laughter and mean spirited criticism over the line from IT guys somewhere in Texas, which in turns, makes my day just that much more satisfying.

And while this is a shit load of fun, messing with Jovial Lab Manager Guy, it still doesn't answer the question of how to get him and Overtly Gay Chris to step away from my lunch break before I have to burn out there retinas with flaming, over nuked meatballs.

You are probably saying, "Ron, why don't you just tell them that this bugs you, that you appreciate your break time and unless you have something important to say, can you please let me enjoy your lunch, alone."

Well, I have, and thank you so much for trying to imply that you're a whole lot smarter than myself and that I don't have the cajewels to tell them to stab themselves with a large rusty pitchfork to their kneecaps. Well, I have, and in truth, I was a whole lot more graphic.

But, this only seemed to make them understand my need for privacy LESS! Since I told them I want to be left alone, they've become a hornets nest of aggravation in my life. Using that analogy as reality, I even brought a can of homicidal pest killer in to work, but that only pissed them off.

I'm at wits end people!?

Any help would be much appreciated in figuring out how to make them stop disturbing my lunch, or flat out killing them (if and only if their horribly ugly deaths can't be traced back to me because I can't spend another night any time in jail!)

But in the meantime, and since I have no idea how to finish up this post effectively, I'm giving Jovial Lab Manager Guy and Overtly Gay Chris The Haggis Award!


  1. Buy a monkey. Collect the monkey's poo and start throwing it at them when they bother you...or just pepper spray them. If they're calling and not really there, buy one of those small air horns and every time they call blow that bitch into the receiver every time they call.
    Fucknuggets......ha ha ha !!

  2. I am back to try again ( this is attempt #7 for this post). Start talking to coworkers about your experiments of making feces a food source. Label your lunch- specimen A and specimen B and so on, then ask if they would like to EAT SHIT.

  3. Peachy's back! Peachy's back! And Peachy's back!!!

    Mama and Peachy, from your comments I have learned that I have indeed been doing things all wrong. Apparently some sort of doo-doo assault on my coworkers is the only way to approach my problem.

    I thank my two favorite bloggers/advice columnists.