The Olympics Can Go To Hell

Why is it that every time my idiot vice president, Sherm Schweinbumser, opens his mouth to speak, a steaming pile of moronic gobbledygook comes tumbling out? Take this morning, for example, when he found me in the men’s room.

“Hey boss, how’s it going?” he asked.

“Fine until you showed up. And what have I told you about talking to me in here?”

“Right, sorry. I’ll wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Well, until you’re done.”

“You’re just going to stand there while I piss? Seriously?”

“Uh… should I just wait for you by the sinks?”

I sighed. “No, you shouldn’t wait for me by the goddamn sinks. Just tell me what’s on your mind, Schweinbumser.”

“Oh, okay. Nothing important. Just wondering if you’ve been watching the Olympics?”

“The Olympics? Of course not. Why in the hell would I want to do that?”

“Well, you know — you get to see all those talented athletes in action! Really amazing what they can do,” he said, laughing nervously.

I flushed and zipped up. “Yes, I’m sure it’s truly spectacular to see people use sticks to slide stones across a skating rink. Or pile into a sled and go downhill. And let’s not forget the figure skating. It’s probably why the NFL shuts down in February, because god knows it wouldn’t want to compete with adrenaline-filled events such as that.”

I turned to leave, but Schweinbumser wouldn’t drop it.

“Hey now! Lots of attractive women in the figure skating. Surely you must like that, right?”

I sighed again. “Schweinbumser, we live in an age in which, at any time of day or night, I can turn on my computer and see completely naked goddesses shoving all manner of body parts and objects into every single one of their orifices. Simultaneously, no less. So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m not interested in watching fully clothed lesbians skate around to the migraine-inducing sounds of Celine Dion.” Pushing the bathroom door open, I added: “Now then, if that was all?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so. But hey! Aren’t you going to wash your hands?”

I looked at the sinks and chuckled. “Nope. Now get back to work before I demote you. I’ve half a mind to do so as it is, so don’t let me catch you tarrying!”

I laughed as he ran down the hall. Then I marched over to the breakroom, found his lunch in the refrigerator, and rubbed my filthy hands all over it. Not because of the preceding conversation; just a little habit of mine. And doing so always fills my heart with joy.

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Categories: Business, Culture, Idiots

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