YSaC, Vol. 855: Must have been something I said.
2010 November 19
This was posted under Jobs:
Data Entry Clerk
I love you so much and i just cant wait to meet you and be in your arms, you mean everything to and and I cant afford to loss you sweetie, I will die in your arms I want to love you till death and after death sweetie you are the best things that I have achieved this year sweetie
Wow. This person really, really loves their data entry clerk — who they have never met! She must be one heck of a keystroker, nudge nudge wink wink.
Is it possible to file a sexual harrassment claim before you’re hired?
i1 <3 u+SUM(A1:IV65536).
Can I get a TypoMagic-to-English translation please? Uncle Google hasn’t been any help at all.
i1 = i*1 = i //(i being sqrt(-1)… though it technically doesn’t matter)
<3 = heart or love //(Though technically yes, the real portion i is less than 3 since 0 < 3)
u + SUM(A1:IV65536) = u + all //(A1:IV65536 is the entire range of a default excel spread sheet)
So:
i heart u + all.
or
I love you all.
Awww…
sqrt(-1) = imaginary lover………..
You’re squirting your imaginary lover? Is that what happens after you inflate her?
Niiice!
But… i signifies imaginary numbers, so does that mean your affection is only a product of our diseased imaginations?
It just means my love is perpendicular to your existence, and therefore cannot be perceived except theoretically.
I think we’re wandering here.
**imagining the warm and heartfelt vows at Tyopmagic and TacoMa’am’s wedding…
Sparky wants to love me after death?
*squick*
And it’s only 7:30 here.
I need LOTS more caffeine.
Rule 34 has become a zomb
Good lord, Necrophelia
Necrophelia = What Hamlet felt?
(Psst, It’s necrophilia.)
HAHAHA
She was a crazy bitch, wasn’t she?
She didn’t become Necrophelia until after the brook, though.
neccophelia would make her wafer, yes?
There’s an Abney Park song called “Dear Ophelia” that I will now hear as “Necrophelia”. Thanks for that.
Lara, let me fix your punctuation there:
Good Lord Necrophelia looked out, on the feast of Beesmas!
When the dead lay round about, gray and foul and rotten.
“Good Lord Necrophelia”
Uhm, Ophelia would be a “Good Lady” (even expired).
Being that she’s Danish royalty, and with her presumptive betrothal to Prince Hamlet. she’d be Dame Ophelia.
Necromanced, we could presume her to be:
Great Dane Lady Dame Necrophelia,
and thus capable of all sorts of Honours and Awards in recognition of Beesmass.
This is way too creepy and clingy love from someone who hasn’t even MET their significant-other-sparky.
The fact that the word “death” was used three times should raise no red flags whatsoever.
*pay no attention to the serial killer behind the curtain*
Let’s just pay attention to an important lack of punctuation here:
Jeebies, start your engines.
I decided not even to “go there” regarding the spelling and the punctuation. I knew I could count on you Typo to edit all those boo-boos.
Hmm, let me get out my red pen. Since I can’t stop reading “death sweetie” as a disturbing term of affection, I’ll go with:
“After Death-Sweetie, you are the best things that I have acheived this year, sweetie.*”
*or, “acheived, This-Year-Sweetie”. And I’m feeling like “things” is not a typo and it’s creeping me out.
*”achieved”, even. Stupid iPhone spellcheck…
Or you can change the hyphen around a bit and make it After-Death Sweetie. That would make Sparky either a zombie or a ghost looking for a little “data entry”.
After-Death Sweeties
Mints for zomb…
Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
I always need to change my shirt after data entry.
What?
Yes, but that’s the hip misspelling for date entry, which may or may not require a powder blue tux.
This may be the same thing LaKitta noticed, but it seems to me that he is comparing two “sweeties”, and “this-year-sweetie” came in second, after “death-sweetie” as the best things he has achieved.
Eew. Just – Eew.
Perhaps data entry clerk is Sparky’s true love’s pet name. Nevermind, I got nothing.
“Hey, baby; wanna go back to my place and play accountant? I’ll crunch your numbers all. Night. Long.
Provided you have your W2s and reciepts with you.”
Baby, I’ll format your columns so that they add up to my heart.
I’ll code an automatic online fiscal tracking system to tell me that you mean the most to me.
I’ll process the employee time cards until you’re clocked into my soul.
…
Anyone else think it’s getting hot in here?
You got me hoping that you’re sharpening your
pecilpencil!Squicked on image of house in just-getting-to-seedy neighborhood, with a similar occupant within.
And a keypunch machine in the living “room” with cartons of both punched and un-punched cardstock about.
Of how things, despite starting ona nervous note, evened out a bit, the rhythmic whirr and motor noises from the idling keypunch machine synchonizing to calmer biological rhythms. At least until the Frotran Argument.
Sparky flies into a rage, discovering his dream date is and apostate WatV accolyte. The DEC, being unclean, and having desanctified the chapel of data entry, all are consumed–after the requisite dismembering–in a pyre of Sparky’s own making, cleansing the world of heresy and the apostate.
Except that the municipal services, paid for ever so long with Sparky’s taxes, are developed enough to respond quickly, and the neighbors’ houses (the pagans the pagans and their hated PCs) are not swept up in the conflagration. The FD takes comfort in that floor slab of Sparky’s hous is not lost.
The matter receives its due notice, a column-inch on page 16G and then into well-deserved obscurity.
And every one (else) lives happily ever after.
Until an accounting error from an unrectified punch card sort causes the interruption of the finales of both AmIdol and DwtS, and continental riots of ignorant sparkies ring the Götterdämmerung upon what was alleged to be ‘modern society’ for far too long.
The Long Night then closed over the ruins, the capable and clever safe in their Farnham enclaves.
The end
That was a ‘long’ night, Capn’.
::snergle::
That was the purdiest whatever-that-was that I ever did read.
Hmm, would help if
“Frotran Argument”
Is rendered as
“Fortran Argument”
And also my abuse of Conrad is rendered not as
“(the pagans the pagans and their hated PCs)”
but as
“(the pagans the pagans, and their hated PCs)”
LL (feels weird to type that, because it used to be my initials…), I think “snergle” is my new favorite word.
Capn…I…erm….yeah…uh….
*scratches head, closes one eye, reads comment for umpteenth time*
Yeah, I got nothin…except this sneaking suspicion there’s tomfoolery afoot in the ‘burbs.
@Typo: I think it’s Chaucer. Yup, definitely Chaucer.
The worst part? I dated an accountant. This is how we jokingly made “sexy talk” with each other. I also find responsibility very attractive, so he would tell me “Hey look, Baby…I’m balancing my checkbook. Hot, right?”.
Such a nerd am I.
Meredith. I’ve never had any credit card debt and I make regular, on-time payments to all my loans.
Sorry, my wife tells me I’m a horrible flirt.
Oh, Typo, you had me at “on-time”. :::swooon:::
You use past tense in this discussion of your relationship … maybe he’s trying to get you back? Aw, Meredith. You femme fatale, you!
Get a break room you two!!!!
(…and stay out of the fridge. I brought me in some leftovers)
Meredith, that is so something I and Mr. Tank would do. We once tried to name all the presidents while… Having together T-shirt time. TMI?
That’s not TMI, Tank. Now, if you’d told us you made him put on a powder-blue tux first, that might have crossed the TMI line.
“Okay, honey; you be the stern IRS auditor who plays by the book and I’ll be the impoverished student trying to claim ramen noodles as an educational expense. The safe word is amethyst.”
Hmm. I’ve never been quite that nerdy. I think the only thing sort of like that was the time my ex (when we were together) commented on my perfect grammar even in the throes of…together T-shirt time.
Let me guess what happened when you got to Clinton…
Bridgete, how does one say accountant in Portugese? 8)
I guess if I’m going to end up with an earworm, Pink Floyd’s “Have a Cigar” isn’t the worst.
Windy: Eu não sei. Eu sou advogada, eu não sou “accountant”. 😉
Am I the first to observe that “Data Entry Clerk” is an anagram of “Nerd Lackey Tart”? Maybe that’s who wrote this post.
I thought it translated into “Date Ends in Tragedy”
(I borrowed a few blank tiles from my Scrabble board)
I tried to take the anagram approach but thought better of it because without coffee I would have come up with Mona Lisa Twinky Accelerator or something equally as inane.
Excellent work, Todd, and apologies for being the target of my first run on sentence of the day.
Run on sentences are fun because they don’t end where most people think they should and you get to use a lot of contractions plus they can contain the fragments of many other sentences and you can throw in irrelevant bit such as the Mona Lisa is smaller than most people think even though it is heavily guarded and most people that I know that have seen it in person were not impressed by it but getting back to the original topic, they can also take unexpected tangents and should be used sparingly because it can leave both the writer and the reader breathless.
And contractions should be conjuctions. I wrote this before breakfast and blame the lack of protein.
Contraction fraction, what’s your action?
It’s lucky if it’s gettin’ any action at all…
Hooking up Sparkette and her victim…
Kelli, I wasn’t impressed with Mona either. Especially so, considering David’s junk and Venus’ shoulder knees didn’t require any glass.
Smedley: SQUEEEEEEEE PUPPEHHH!!!!!
Who is and?
Sweetie wants a punctuation man.
I’m guessing “she” is his collection of inflatable cumpets.
I just got my promotion (yay me!), and while it’s technically not “data entry clerk”, do you think it may earn me even 1/2 of the adoration and devotion that this position does? I mean, I’m planning for my future here, so if “romantic zealot” is one of the perks that come with “data entry clerk”, I think I need to switch professions quick!
I can try to creepy up my stalking for a while. I think I could probably include weird letters about loving your corpse for a nominal fee.
Oh WOULD you? Make sure you talk about how I don’t smell….that bad. And the lovely tone of grey I’ve achieved.
Get a mausoleum you two!!!!
Is it hot in here, or are we just in a crematorium?
I hope not, I wouldn’t want to make an ash of myself.
Wow, sj has a British accent today.
EDIT and now I look crazy because sj used the edit function.
Ha-ha, I fixed it! 😛 With twenty three seconds to spare.
Thank you, blessed Llama-Nun*, for returning the edit feature.
*Bees be upon her.
Hooray, Meredith! 8) I think you should bring this post in and leave it on the boss’s desk. Couldn’t hurt. Much.
My boss does ask if I’m “Sucking at Craigslist” in the morning. He says he knows that’s what I’m doing when I start laughing to myself.
Having the same name as his daughter may make the eternal love a bit awkward, though.
I once dated a guy whose name was the same as my dad’s. It was weird. I’d tell you I got over it, but we didn’t actually last very long — he was more boring than watching paint dry.
Who’s your daddy?
*squick*
So you’re dog is HamAnd?
You forgot his last name. “HamAndCan”
Am I allowed to point out Taco’s error if I made the same one this week?
Nope. You’re is always posessive.
Yes. Pointing out Taco’s errors regardless of our own is a long standing YSaC tradition.
So…you are dog Ham And….Typo are Magic…
Check.
“HamAndCan” — that’s halfway to a classic blues name
All that is missing is a harmonica and a disability
I used to have a HamAnd Organ. Ew.
And you still could.
What?
I’ve missed you guys.*
*on Here…on here I’ve missed you guys. Most of you I still snark with on a regular basis.
You know you play too much Xbox when you refer to your love as an “achievement”.
“Achievement Unlocked:Love after death (20G)”
Achievement Added: Zombie Lovin’
Requirements: Love sweetie till death and after death.
Points: 0
Death and Sweetie: The bestselling book based on the exciting life of Data Entry Clerk. Feel the achievement.
The sequel is even better: Death and Sexes: The Only Thing You Can Be Sure Of
(or was that Death and Texas?)
Don’t mess with Texass.
Gee, and I was feeling bad because my boss doesn’t seem to like me much at all. I guess it’s not so bad after all. I definitely don’t want to love my boss to death and after. Her husband would object, in any case.
Entry. La petite mort. Achieved.
After yesterday, I was resolved to behave myself in the snark lounge today, but I just can’t see how this is going to end well.
I should’ve walked away.
Stephanae, resistance is futile. Prepare to be asnarkinated.
I am 7 of Snark.
@ Windrose – I’m so adopting asnarkinated!
Also I thought you might appreciate this quackers excuse *also sticks it to the French so bonus points* http://uk.news.yahoo.com/18/20101119/thl-french-farmer-fined-for-giving-canna-3bf5dbc.html
The “specialist” could also claim that cannabis is an excellent yeti repellant, since there has not been a single yeti attack in France in all the time he’s been using it.
I’ve never been attacked by a Not.A.Lion while wearing my Unshelved Klingon shirt. Therefore, my shirt is a Not.A.Lion repellant!
I look forward to the upcoming CL ads for baggies of organic “yeti repellant”. I hope there are pictures!
I’m sure the only pictures will be of Mr. Winkey.
My left sock prevents alien abductions. The right one will sell you out for a sheet of Bounce Outdoor Fresh.
There are days, having driven two hours down to the Basement Cave of Military Technology, and then two hours home again, that the only accomplishment I can name would be that I prevented the infestation of not-a-lions over the southern American electronic border.
I shall now add wormed (or wormy) ducks to that list.
You could also add “Did not invade Poland” to that list.
And “Did not assassinate an arch-
duckduke.”Yeah, and “got rid of some of those pesky rotten dinosaur carcasses globbing up the Earth’s crust.”
Today’s sinus-enema is brought to you by the word “asnarkinated”.
*chortle.snort.*
You’re going to have freakishly well developed sinus muscles with all this regular exercise.
“Is your nose feeling lethargic? Run down? Flaccid? Read You Suck At Craigslist every day to strengthen and tone those sinuses! Call now and recieve this combination irrigation vessel and typing mug at no additional cost! Simply pay additional shipping and handling, sign this contract in blood, and hand over your firstborn. Call now, operators are standing by!*
*Operators are not actually physically standing, but are sitting in a basement hogtied with extension cords.”
*assumes meditating pose* Ohm…… Ohm……
Ohm might not agree that resistance is futile.
He always does go against the flow like that. Just like him to resist the current.
Taco, I’m shocked that you would be so critical of watt ever it is you are being critical of. Shocked, I say!
what a graceful way to cross the line Stephanie. I applaud your use of la petite mort!
Merci, Lara.
One of the best things about the ad is that they are offering $24.30 per hour — and telecommuting is ok!
This is the best job ever!
Well… so long as you don’t mind being groped via email anyway.
Mmmm. Cybergroping.
At least until your complimentary webcam arrives.
So the textual harrasment becomes visual harrasment?
Kinda like Chatroulette, but more so.
I’d never heard of Chatroulette before, sj. I suppose it makes sense now that I looked it up, but I would have guessed it was a gambling game where you roll cats.
And it sounds French, which makes sense for reasons I won’t go into.
Puppy! Lookit the cute widdle puppy-boy! Aw. . . *melting in 5, 4, 3,*
Stephenae, you may have just invented my new favorite game.
He knew she would be perfect. Argus just had a gut feeling, the same one you get when everything just clicks, the conditions are just right, the stars and planets align just so, and whomever made the coffee in the break room that morning put just the right ratio of water to grounds and made what must have been the best cup of java he had the entire time he worked there. She would be absolutely awesome, he just knew she would.
The anticipation was killing him, though. He knew she would be there soon, but it was hard to concentrate. He sat at his cubicle and tried to get some work done, but it was pointless. He couldn’t focus. He tried to engage in one of the many distractions littering his desk: His miniature Velcro dart set; his trebuchet made out of pens and elastic bands; his hand-made book binder Transformer; his poster of Danny Kaye from Hans Christian Andersen that some asshat defaced by writing an L on Danny’s forehead with a Sharpie; his Glo-Worm; his Walt Mossberg action figure — but none of it relieved the burning desire to finally see her, to hold her, caress her. She occupied his every waking thought.
He heard the mail cart starting to make its rounds and his heart leapt. She was coming. Any minute now the cart would be there at his cubicle, and she with it. Argus clenched his hands together to keep them from trembling. The anticipation was unbearable. He tried counting the seconds: One, two, three, four, ten, fifteen– no, no, he couldn’t trick himself into making time seem to move faster, not this time. She would get here when she gets here and not a moment sooner.
“Your mail, Mr. Bodkins?” said a sultry voice from above, and his heart very nearly reenacted that scene from that movie with that robot and that alien — oh, what the hell was it called? Never mind, it didn’t matter. He looked up. The mail girl had a classically pretty face, a kind of old-soul beauty that transcended modern notions of style and class. She had full, pouty lips and sultry, come-hither eyes of deepest azure. Her long and slender arm terminated in a smooth, silky hand and sleek, perfect fingers that proffered a single, thin envelope to him. It was her.
Argus reached out for the envelope and whispered a reverent “thank you.” He grabbed the envelope, dismissed the mail girl with a wave of his hand, and turned to his desk. He tore the end of the envelope off vigorously, reached a thumb and forefinger inside and slipped out the single, narrow sheet of paper within.
There she was, and she was more beautiful than he had even anticipated. Her crisp, straight lines accented with serif curves and a nacreous security ribbon woven down one end. And the numbers, there were so many numbers –five of them, and a decimal place! He could scarcely believe his eyes, but there it was, staring him in his face: The biggest and best bonus cheque he had ever gotten. It was the best thing he had achieved this year, maybe the best thing he would ever achieve, and he would cherish this cheque even long after he was dead.
He thought about all of the things he could buy with it, but he already knew what he wanted: a 1:2 scale Yoda coin bank that said, “Rich, you are not” whenever he deposited a coin. His cheque would just about cover it. Argus gently folded the cheque and placed it gingerly in his left breast pocket.
She was beautiful, alright. Stunning. But she would be even more wonderful once she transformed into cold, hard cash.
I’d prefer to hear the German version of this story Mindfield.
p.s. you spelled “check” incorrectly. You just can’t add a bunch of vowels at the end of a word and think that’s proper.
I’m Canadian. We have a properly healthy respect for extraneous vowels here, buddy. Extraneous vowels helped us win the war!
I’m American. Please allow me the right to be ego-centric and close-minded and to continue to embarrass the USA in every corner of the globe!
And she’s not your buddy, guy.
*batting my eyelashes* @ GlitterTank
Which war was that?
The Great Vowel War of Mumblety-Eleben, know primarily for the Battle of Grave Bowel and the heroic actions of the Y Brigade.
I thought that was the Sometimes Y Brigade.
Huh…
So… She’s not an ancient blues guitarist, Tank?
It’s from the South Park movie. Now you say, “i’m not your guy, pal.” Then Mudsy says “I’m not your pal, buddy.” Hilarity ensues.
Ah. Noted.
Darn my busy evening! You explained the joke before I could reply with the next line. But I was remembering it as a Team America quote. Been a long time since I’ve seen either.
I see the Imodium did not work…
🙂
I’m afraid they didn’t, no, and can I just say, those things were really uncomfortable to insert?
Oh yeah, sorry.
Next time I’ll remember to purchase the “cactus free” version.
You’re supposed to take them out of the bottle first, dear.
Okay, so … don’t use the whole bottle at once and avoid the ones with extra cactus. Good to know. But can anything be done about the burning?
: hands Mindfield a fire extinguisher:
There ya go.
Popsicles.
I read this while picturing Tim Conway and Carol Burnett doing their ‘Mr. Tudball and Mrs. Wiggins’ routine.
Adores to you Mindfield!
Oh jeez, I loved the Wiggins/Tudball skits on Carol Burnett. The outtakes reel on the first of that series of skits on YouTube is one of the funnies damn things ever.
Father Duffy is full of shit.
Tim Conway’s dentist skit is the funniest thing ever. I always feel sorry for poor Harvey Korman, you can tell he’s trying so hard not to laugh and failing utterly.
I *need* to get those on DVD. And there’s a holiday coming up… one with wrapped things and gifts and stuff!
Yes, it’s Beesmas time! I can’t wait to deck the cranberries with mistletoe and trim the turkey with tinsel. Or something like that.
OMG…how about the Mama’s Family skit with Conway describing the Siamese twin elephants? Or, hands down the funniest was the “Gone With The Wind”…Carol as Scarlet, literally wearing the drapes and saying “I saw it in the window and I just couldn’t resist.”
Or…how about the funeral with Robin Williams…holy.shit.
And then the outtakes with Conway and Korman always trying to make the other laugh…and then Vickie would just open up the sailor mouth and have them all flat out on the floor.
Or….huh? Okay, I’ll stop…can ya tell I’m a fan?
REALLY IMPORTANT QUESTION HERE: Should we say Merry Beesmas, or Happy Beesmas?
Windrose: I’m voting for Merry Beesmas
I’m thinking we mix it up with a less common:
“Joyous Beesmas”
Or maybe the more TypoMagical:
“Mary Beesmas”
I originally voted for Merry Beesmas but I must change my vote to “Mary Beesmas.” So YSaC-appropriate.
Oooh…I like “Mary Beesmas” too.
CJ
And Mary Beesmas, definitely.
What I was taught was that British use of “merry” meant “with imbibing” and “happy” just meant joyous. Thus, for the religious aspect of christmas, one would want to wish a Happy Christ Mass to fellow believers. one could have Merry New Year, as that was secular (even if UK methodism frowns on fun, or drinking, or, gasp, dancing)
Yes, I want to change my vote to “Mary Beesmas.” (Is that cheating?)
Mary Beesmas to all, and to all a good latte!
Well, Cap’n, that implies we *definitely* need to go with Mary Beesmas.
You brought this all on yourselves:
‘Twas the night before Beesmas, when we’re all drinking stout.
Not a creature was stirring, for our coffee’d ran out;
The stalkers were hiding in the bushes with care,
In hopes that the Llama-nun soon would be there;
The snarkers found ads that got on their nerves,
While visions of shoulder-knees excited the perves;
With typo rich comments and math done by cat,
Sniggering and chortling by our computers we sat,
When out in the truck there arose such a buzzing,
What could it be? It was all so confuzzling.
Away to the window I flew like a bee,
Looked past the stalkers to see what I’d see .
The leaves choking the front yard might have betrayed
The glinting red table that was free once I’d paid.
When on that red table I was glad to behold,
Eight jars of old Crisco now hard with the cold.
A bird with cereals, both old and quite new,
Taking his payment was this big Ostrimu.
He loaded them up into his giant old truck
And sprinkled down craigsads, though I knew they would suck.
“Now, Lion! now,Hypno! now, Stalker and Needy!
On, Sparky! on Asshat! on, Idjut and Creepy!
To the internets go, to the deal searchers fly!
Suck away, Suck away! And make them all cry!”
And so with his truck full of bees that it was,
He pulled out of the driveway with a loud roaring buzz!
And down the street to the next house he did drive,
In his rumbling long-bed ford ranger beehive.
And then I as I turned thinking it was all done
What did I see but the true Llama-nun!
She smiled at me with a wrinkle of her nose
As the firelight of my screensaver lit up her bows
And to me she said, though she didn’t quite ask,
“Mary Beesmas to you, now hand over that flask!”
TM, you’ve captured the magic of Beesmas so perfectly.
Now, I must go have a shower.
Wally, Eddy’s giving me the Beesmas!
Taco, that was amazing.
Taco, Typo, whoever you are today, you are my girl crush for the rest of the Beesmas season!
All it’s missing is a zombie winterbagel towing a tetnus-sandbox deeplomate boat with da minty shell, as evinced by the ice green promdress by the rehomed port-a-let.
But, I might be making Frach presumptionals for sale, free, too many to list.
***Knock Knock***
Tron: Door, Mommy!
TacoMa’am: Hello.
FedEx Guy: Got a delivery for TypoMagic.
Tron: Look, a cooler! Picnic, Mommy!
TacoMa’am: Don’t touch that. It says “Human Organ” on it. (Turns to interior of house)
Honey! You got a … uh… delivery!
Fed Ex Guy: It’s a spleen. Says here it’s from Olympia, Washington.
**TypoMagic enters, sees cooler.**
TypoMagic: Hey, I got a spleen from Tankerbell!
(Cricket noises from Tron, Fed Ex guy, and TacoMa’am)
TypoMagic: For a poem I wrote about Beesmas.
(More cricket noises.)
TypoMagic: Forget it. It just means she thinks my poem was really good. Where do I sign?
You wacky puppy…..between fits of laughter (thank God no one else is here right now)….I just imagined you sitting at your desk and taking inventory to create this passage.
Is there anything you can’t twist into something wonderfully fanciful?
Who are you…..really?
Okay, I FINALLY figure out how to do the “blockquote” thingy, but apparently don’t know how to end the “blockquote” thingy….sigh…
And, I keep trying to edit but it won’t save. 🙁
To end any sort of html function use /function
Or birdseed.
kelli – tried that by putting it in at the end and it di’nt work….sigh…I’m retarded….obviously.
CJ: it’s
[blockquote] COPIED TEXT [/blockquote]
Only use the tag symbols in place of the brackets.
Did you make your small sacrifice to the computer gremlins?
You also have to be very careful that the last bit is </blockquote> and not </blockqoute> as then the html-ending slash is not recognized.
Worry not, I have corrected it for you. I was almost out of bird seed, anyway.
Heh, thanks. 😀 Actually my real desk is quite boring, my only personal effects sitting on it being geeky. Apart from messes of paperwork and work-related books there’s only my iPad, iPhone, bluetooth headset and sunglasses. (In case I have a situation that can only be taken care of in a manner befitting Horatio Caine.) I have a corkboard but it’s full of work-related stuff. And I don’t have a cubicle, I’m in a semi-open office area with three other desks behind me where the salesmen sit, though they’re only in the office maybe once or twice a week, ‘cos they’re outside salesmen. (We were never able to paper train them.) I’m not in sales either, so the only bonus I get is at Christmas, but it is pretty handsome as Christmas bonuses go.
As for who I am? I’m Hans Christian Andersen, Andersen I am.
In what area do you park your moose?
Like this?
I think I was doing that dyslexic thing Capn described…
Sometimes it’s hard to spot slysdexia in stuff that you type yourself…
Aww…windy!! Thank you darlin’! Birdseed placed into magneto-magic seed dispenser and *crunch..whirr..pffffffft* It’s on its way!
HCA-a/k/a freaky puppy – well, then you must do some eBaying this weekend to come up with the appropriate flotsam for your desktop….and then post pictures for us.
The name’s Field. MindField.
Mindfield — you are moving into non-fiction I see. Well done.
Well, I like to change things up, y’know. This week has been full of stuff needing backstories. Except for Wednesday, which was the obligatory song and dance number.
So basically, her fantasy is to die in the arms of a data entry clerk, then haunt him lovingly after she’s passed away. Every year she has a new “best things that I have achieved this year”, and this year isn’t quite as good as some of the other shenanigans she’s pulled.
However, being that she’s planning on dying this time around, something tells me there won’t be a next year. Can anyone queue up Celebration by Kool & The Gang?
I think a Snarty may be in order once she’s found her data entry clerk of death.
(Can I say Snarty? Snarky Party? I know I’m new… so…)
I LOVE Snarty!!!
It’s like snarky and shitty all rolled into one.
@Beau – welcome and I’m adopting snarty … it has so many uses!
Thanks for the love, I didn’t know if anyone would like it. Feel free to use it however you’d like, no trademarks or copyrights here 😛
Anybody else notice that Beau can hardly open his eyes in his avvy? Methinks someone de-wormed him.
I thought perhaps he had just finished cleaning the 420 house. That smile is saying, “I got $20, now who’s driving me to Taco Bell?”
So we have established that this reads a little oddly in a posting advertising to hire a data entry clerk but I’m just SURE it would make a compelling entry on a resume or yearly 360 review:
Most significant achievements:
* You
* You
* Dying in your arms
* You
Wait, I’ve got it!
This was posted by Pygmalion!
I’m guessing it was Narcissus. He was gazing into pond water again.
No wonder he fell in love with his reflection. All that algae and pond scum made him even more beautiful.
Today’s Snark Lounge Playlist
IT’S A TRAP!
???
The cake is a lie, TM
Pi(e) is the truth.
Someone please, take pity on me and explain.
@Steph: It’s Taco….there is no explanation. Apparently, since it’s Friday, the tourette’s took over and all anagrammy ensued.
Whew. Thank you, Mudsy. I was afraid my insanity was setting in again.
Don’t worry Steph, if insanity sets in again, we have plenty of the “I love me” jackets in the snark lounge.
Mine’s the green one with the smiley face buckles.
Mine’s the red one with long black cat hair on it and tranquilizers in the pocket.
Not any more, Artsy. I had one of THOSE days.
Don’t ask what happened to the cat hair, though.
Wait, it’s Friday? Cool!
Mine has the little chirping birdies on the sleeves. They tell me when it’s time to put on the I love Me jacket, and when it’s okay to take it off. Chirp chirp chirp!
I thought the “I Love Me” ones were the t-shirts?
Mine’s the red one with the marabou trim and the slit all the way up to… Oops, wait a minute, I think you might be talking about something different….
I know people are desperate for jobs, but …
I have observed and concluded that it doesn’t matter what Ladycrim writes; I always adore it because of the squeeeee!!! avatar. Why that kitten does it for me so consistently is a mystery, but it does.
That’s my little Nico when he was about a month old. He’s much bigger now! 🙂
CDF- Craigslist display of affection?
Actually I’m kind of interested in this job. The most loving gesture I usually see at work is the finger.
I just get yelled at over the phone by people who think it’s my fault they have the same tenuous grasp of basic mathematics as a two-year-old child. Having the sort of ’til-after-death-do-us-part relationship Sparky is looking for seems a bit too far in the other direction though.
I don’t know about Sparky, but I’ve got things I wanna do in my afterlife…places to go; people to see; haunting Johnny Depp for all eternity, etc. I’m planning on Sparky being a lonely guy.
“Yeah, that vaguely womb-like tunnel of white light filled with dead people looks tempting, but I’ve got a few celebrities I want to spy on in the shower so I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
If there’s a heaven and I make it there, first thing I’m doing is hanging out with dead famous people.
I’m gunna hawk a loogie on Pat Robertson.
I think you’ll need really good aim to hit him from waay up there.
If there’s no bar, and none of the bartenders (or barflies) I know, I’m assuming it’s the wrong place, and I’ll have to take over (again).
My preferred version of the Hereafter being one of being able to prop up ones feet (whether in muddy boots or not) in a just-dark-enough den-of-not-quite-inequity with both flagon and fine goblet of delicious beverage. Bawdy tales and buxom wenches and no-longer-dirt-poor songwriters in a kaleidoscopic Venn diagram where the tears will be as light as children’s laughter, and the joy as deep as the calm blue sea. Dancing will be effortless and skillful, corrupted by neither clumsiness, ineptitude, nor wasted burses.
Only problem with that Perfection is the fact that it would be Perdition for far too many*–something which suggests more consideration is mete and due the topic. But, ecclesiastical certainty still being a sign of apostasy, probably better overall.
____________________
*Agreeing with Billy Joe Shaver, that many Coalition types, Country Music program directors, and all Nashville music producers will likely wind up as bathroom fixtures in the hereafter.
Nah, it’ll be a REALLY big loogie, epic(ac) even.
Remember, Smedley, he’s been practicing with the blue-water valve and the tractor beam from the Orbiting Cave of Technological Wonders. If anybody can hit Pat Robertson with a loogie from heaven, it’s Hammy.
I have this problem all the time with Data Entry Clerks, the bastards. They make me fall in love with them and then I loss them. They don’t even stick around for me to die in their arms, they just put money on the nightstand and leave.
Wait. You get paid…. money?
well it is under jobs
I thought their job has always been to spell your name so totally fucked up that you could enter the witless protection program with it and no one—not even your own family—could ever find you again.
LL, you don’t? Am I doing it wrong?
Hmmm … I usually get livestock, but this “money” thing sounds like it’s much easier to keep track of.
I calling HR the next time I’m offered a raise.
::leaving a fatted calf on sj’s nightstand::
:Hands Mudsy a pygmy goat and three chickens.:
Here’s your change.
Get a barn, you two!
Oh goody. I was hoping to get some spare barnyard animals for the parking meter!
@Lola: Oh..we just meet at Bob Evans. We don’t need a barn. 🙂
You’ll have to fold the chicken to make it fit.
Splains the solid walls of sound.
You’ll have to fold the chicken to make it fit
Please don’t choke it first – it is so difficult to resuscitate a choked chicken.
OT/ I’m in the Golden L…
I’m in the box! Please excuse me while I gloat for then I must go make a sacrifice at the altar I’ve built to the Llamanun (Bees be upon her). I hope homemade chocolate chip cookies and Grey Goose are acceptable.
That will do nicely, thank you.
It’s been so long, I forgot what was acceptable. I hope you’ve made out your Christmas Wishlist.
Ah good, then the mint sugar cookies with key lime icing (which are just horrible, horible, with the Goose) will be “just right” for Beesmass, then, yes?
At eSerial, we try our best to match you up with the person who will viciously maul your corpse in the most effective way, and who will kill and/or wear you in the least traumatic way as well. Our founder, Mr. Bates, has years of experience with finding people, whether they want to be found or not. Sign up, today!
I’m back from playing AC:B.
Welcome back NMN
I’m pretty sure Norman Bates wasn’t married, so that would make him Master rather than Mister. It matters.
I see what you’re trying to do there, EB.
Hehe…
Wow.
That must have been some kind of kiss.
[fun with punctuation matt-ish]
I’m feeling like there is an insult and possibly a couple of errors in counting here…
First, that there are 4,673 people like me – this seems awfully specific. And what is the definition of “like” in this context anyway. That number seems either rather high or somewhat low.
Second, these 4,673 people who are like me all suck at CL. This number MUST be too low.
Last, this implies that *I* suck at CL since all these people who are like me suck at CL. Perhaps I do… I’m not sure. I *thought* my two postings were clear enough and the gentleman who bought my 15″ LCD monitor didn’t bring it back so I must have done something right… Right?
…Right?
[/matt-ish]
We’ve been over this before, Moira.
Reruns are fun!
Especially if you have short-term memory loss.
Let’s eat Moira!
:sigh:
Cannibalism isn’t the answer to all of life’s problems.
Some of them, but not all of them.
Cannibalism is the cure.
(According to Get Set Go. That song cracks me up. Especially the chomping sounds.)
I… missed it. I think I was fending off data entry clerks at work and I haven’t caught up with the discussions that occurred in my absence.
I guess I have homework to do…
Moira, I read that as “feeding off data entry clerks”.
Oh geez, tanker, so did I!
Have we been over this? Is it something I missed in my absence?
I’m positive we’ve covered this before but I can’t be arsed to find where.
Data Entry Girl
By: Billy Droll
Oooh…
Data Entry Girl
She’s been living in my made up world
I bet she never had an bat shit crazy guy
I bet her mama told her to run away
I’m gonna try for a Data Entry Girl
She’s been living in my freaked out mind
Along with any girl with a pulse
And now she’s looking for a police man
(shh)That’s what I am
Unless she tells me that
She wants to be mine
when she wakes up
She’ll find that she is tied
She’ll see I’m not so rough
Just because
I’m in love with an Data Entry Girl
You know I’ve seen her in my spycam world
She’s getting suspicious of her paintings eyes
And all the presents from anonymous guys
She’s got no choice
Oooh…
Data Entry Girl
You know I can’t keep on stealing her shoes
But maybe someday when she throws them away
I’ll fish them out of the trash bin
And then I’ll win
And when she’s walking
She’s looking out behind
And when she’s talking
She’s screaming it’s a CRIME!
She’ll see I’m not so rough
Just because
I’m in love with an Data Entry Girl
You know I’ve seen her in my spycam world
Along with any girl with a pulse
And now she’s looking for a police man
(shh)That’s what I am
Oooh…
Data Entry Girl
She’s my Data Entry Girl
Don’t You know I’m in love
With an Data Entry Girl
My Data Entry Girl
Don’t You know I’m in love
With an Data Entry Girl
My Data Entry Girl
Don’t You know I’m in love
With an Data Entry Girl
My Data Entry Girl
she’s an Data Entry Girl
I can’t get the vision of Billy Jowl out of my head now. Dancing with that stupid grease monkey shirt on and singing into his wrench*. Thanks alot, Hammy.
*this is LITERAL, and is not a euphemism
I despise this song, and always have. However, my then-toddler daughter could NOT hear it enough way back when. OMG…I thought I would go insane.
Sigh…thanks, Hammy, for that li’l trip down memory lane.
I enjoy some of his songs. I find the majority of them somewhat insipid but reasonable as background.
This particular song, however, tends to make me want to kill something messily.
I’m not sure why…
Bavec, I learned in my special HR class that you’re not supposed to finger people at work.
Poking them with a pecil is not allowed either.
However, backing over them in the parking lot is okay.
Yeah, these days they’re called (whistle) blowers.
The error and its fix: Make sure your reply says “reply to (name)” or it will drop to the bottom. Yay technology!
christina, have I mentioned that I love you?
Aw, I love you too, Tank, but only from afar. And by afar I mean from my window seat at Starbucks, memorizing the designer of your purse and the make and model of your car.
I’m sorry, am I pushing our affair to the stalker level too soon?
Don’t I have to stop loving you first? Before the stalking begins? This is all so confusing. Let’s ask Taco, he’s behind that blue truck outside my house. Watching. Always watching.
***uses remote server to look through sat images***
Actually, TM is behind the third bush along; he’s left a manikin behind the blue truck of Mr E. R. Bradshaw of Napier Court, Black Lion Road, (London) SE 5 who cannot be seen.
But, you can’t fool the Thermal Imagers, not those babies, why they’re URRRGH! URRGH! [redacted]
Nice to see that Edgar A. Poe’s muse is still out there inspiring.
The Cask of Amortization
The Masque of the Red Ink
The Black Gaap
You forgot
The Telltale Chart
(I’m definitely very literary today)
I love that one!!
Poe’s best work for me is “Pair o’ Knees” [Berenice]
Oh, I would have guessed
Annabelle Knees
The Imp of the Perverts
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a clerk there lived whom you may know
By the name of Death-Sweetie;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than having data entered by me.
I achieved and she achieved,
In this kingdom by the sea;
And I couldn’t afford to loss the love–
Of my beautiful Death-Sweetie;
With the scrambled tense in a phrase without sense
Of my clerk of the Data Entry.
Flings Poe-dunked doors at all 25 SN’s.
POE not poo.
Yes, 25 came up with a perfect twist for this necrophiliac. But personally, I wouldn’t be caught dead with a necrophiliac……
Mr. Poe:
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Well, better to be caught dead (and beyond caring)* with a necrophilliac, than live (long “i”) in necrophillia, probably.
___________________________
*Being caught undead, a question for zomb
So there I was feeling all dissed and stupid ‘cuz I had no clue, and all the time Taco was loving on us. Awwwwww is right.
Edit: dammiti am having christina’s random comment nesting. Aaaaaaargh!
Taco-love is sometimes very elusive and hard to recognize….
And sticky…
It also can mess up your digestion for the night like nothing else.
Especially the free tacos from Jack . . . <groan>
The ones you were so excited about a few days ago?
Yes, precisely. Normally not a problem after sufficient beer consumption. So, my error was in time-of-day and poor appetizer choice.
Would have answered sooner, but I left for live music by local legend Roger Creager. (The encore included his dad, Bill Creager heloing sing “Rancho Grande”–tres unique)
Well sweetie don’t you just see sweetie that data entry is such an important job sweetie and you can’t just ignore it sweetie because then there will be all kinds of loss sweetie
(Yes, I posted this on FB yesterday, but I didn’t want it to get lost in the ether of the YSaC FB page…)
It’s still snarktastic today.
Safety Drill in the Snark Lounge. Everyone, pay attention here! It’s important that you know this. Data Entry, right over there, and Data Exit. Do not confuse the two. In case of an emergency, move calmly through Data Exit. Do not block Data Entry at any time. You will be fined, harassed, your yeti repellant will be confiscated, and Mindfield will write a story about you.
Elebenty-hunnert doors for you, Miss Windy!
Is this when we get to man our battle stations? I love it when we do that.
Says someone who clearly had not been awakend from 15.35 minutes of blissful unconsciousness on about an 11 hour sleep deficit by the
*BONGBONGBONG*GENERAL QUARTERS!*BONGBONG*GENERAL QUARTERS!*BONG*Man Your Battle Stations*BONGBONGBONG*Man Your Battle Stations*BONGBONGBONG*[threat & direction]*BONGBONGBONG*Set Condition ZULU throughout the Ship!*BONGBONGBONG*{and, only now, after the adrenaline has maxed out and pulse has hit a sedate 185 or so}”this is only a drill”*BONGBONGBONG*
Not that substituting “Fire In the Well Deck! Fire In the Well Deck! Repair Three Provide, Repair Three Provide” for “Battle Stations” is much less stress–but while pulling fire gear on by reflex, there is never so long a time as that time between the annoncement and that very critical “this is only a drill.” You are still being timed and graded on performance, but, at least there are no real conflagrations or casualties to cope with.
I would suggest, should the oppertunity present itself, that it would be a supremely bad idea to test Uncle Sugar’s training methods by waking, hmm, Hammy, Bomb, Me, Stephanae, or Smedley by glanging metal objects together and yelling “GAS!GAS!GAS!”
She’s serious, you know. I’ll write an absurd little story, I’ll call you Slurp, and I’ll make you wear a floral print muumuu regardless of your gender. And you’ll work for the TSA. As a screener screener — those are the people that have to screen the screeners before they go on duty. And you will grope. Oh yes, there will be groping.
You have been warned.
OK, how’s this?
Puppy!
That’s funny, I see an oil fider warch.
No, wait; it’s that other thing – an adorable puppy. I get them confused sometimes.
Cute avvie, Smedley! That’s not a mix or a soner, is it?
This is the aforementioned Catahoula, Velcro. This was taken when she was about 40 pounds, she last weighed in at 65.
Aw, she’s so adorable, Smedley! My boy dog is a cattle hula/pittball/something (probably soner) mix and he has that same “please pet me or give me food” floppy eared look she is giving the camera.
The curious look is because my phone says “Quack” when you take a picture.
Excellent, now teach Lakitta <G>
Ooh, Smedley, very nice! A personalized avvie worthy of you, and a cute puppy. Doors!
She is currently staying with a girl (Yes, you are all girls. Except for the guys.) from my hometown who answered a desperate plea on my behalf to adopt her until my housing situation stabilized. The savior (Saviorette?) happens to be the first girl I kissed, so “girl” is a bit of a misnomer. She is also starting to broadcast a distinct wish to be the next Mrs. Smedley. I think I should take a little time off for good behavior before I commit to anything. I don’t think I’m ready to be committed again this soon. Velcro was rescued by a co-workers daughter, who saw her and a littermate in the street. She pulled up and found that momma dog had been squished along with two other puppies. The littermate has the almost purple coat and spots that distinguish the breed and give it the common name of “Leopard Cur”. They are mainly found in Louisiana, and are bred and trained to hunt wild pigs in groups of three. (The dogs, not the pigs.) A very interesting breed, with a very wide inquisitive streak. Also very high energy, as I am sure christina can attest. All right, Catahoula 101. Any questions?
And for HamCan, Bombdude, Taco and the rest of the Perven, I haven’t kissed any boys.
I have kissed boys.
Did you make all of them wear the blue floppy tux?
I have not kissed as many as you would think.
You have a “reputation”? Cool.
Very high energy, but he is also high anxiety when his sisters don’t want to play.
So, as the day wound down here at Meej Central, I was struck by a sudden, horrifying thought:
What if this is a post from a Star Trek: TNG fan? (That is, a fan…)
Ewwww…
I second that ewww…. Data is one of my all-time favorite Star Trek characters, but… ewww…. (I could nerd out and write about Tasha, but I won’t.)
Yeah, that thought occurred to me too, Meej. If it’s true, this is certainly the worst fanfiction I’ve ever read.
Well…he is “fully” functional.
I know there’s quite a few of you here who are in the WRAL TV viewing area, so I’m going to remind you to tune into the Raleigh Christmas Parade tomorrow, starting at 10. Cary will be marching in it.
I was trying to recommend a restaurant to someone and couldn’t think of the name but knew it was something like “S****y’s” but every time I tried to fill in the blanks I could only come up with “Snarky’s”. On a related note, I think I found a good fictional location for the YSAC Mary Beesmas Snarty.
LimeLolly, Ollie Ollie Doxin Free! Punchity Punch Punch!
G’Night, Raytown!