Friday, April 30, 2010
"I did a double take," said a visibly upset Karalyn Murray, "that can't be what I think it is, can it? But upon closer inspection it was. Someone actually spit here! Right here in the stairwell where we all have to walk! What kind of a sick monster would do such a thing?"
"Why the heck would it be a cleaning person? That makes no sense at all. They would be the ones that would have to clean it up. Dumbest theory yet. Now, if you ask me, I think it might be that UPS guy. I could have sworn I heard him clearing his throat this morning. I think he has a cold. Too much of a coincidence if you ask me," said Ted Glumpkin.
That theory was quickly rebuffed by several other office workers, namely Barbara "Babs" Brisbane.
"Ted is way off base about the UPS guy. He's just jealous because most of the women think he's cute and flirt with him. Ted hates him. Besides, he made deliveries at ten, and the loogie was spotted before that. I think it was Ted if you ask me, he's trying to frame the poor guy."
Work came to a standstill for several hours as the discussion continued, sometimes becoming heated as the accusations began to fly.
"The spit was new, there were still bubbles in it when it was discovered, it has to be somebody in this office. It was way too fresh, it is one of you," said Judy Koppelman, as she squinted angrily at a group standing by the copy machine.
The saliva has divided the office, with former friends blaming each other, starting rumors, and wondering which one of them could be the culprit.
"I'm sick thinking about this. Physically sick. I can't believe that one of these people that I share an office with could be so disgusting. Someone that I share a water fountain with. Someone I talk about American Idol with. Someone I might have had lunch with. I'm repulsed by the whole thing. I'm ready to quit," said Murray.
As of press time no one has come forth as the offending party, and it is highly unlikely that the spitter will ever be found. There has been some talk of DNA testing, but both Blanda and Gunnerson have refused to pay for such tests, and have instead posted a more cost- effective 'No Spitting' sign in the stairwell.
For now the office workers of Blanda-Gunnerson will be suspicious of each other and things may never ever be the same again. DD (Laszlo Ferrar reporting)
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Pieter Vanderbosch, world class pianist, had to cut short his performance at Carnegie Hall last night due to a bizarre accident. The pianist's penis was attacked by a bee's nest. Easy for you to say.
The attack occurred near the very end of the pianist's concert, during his performance of the "Rach 3", which is the extremely difficult piece formally known as Piano Concerto No 3 in D minor by Sergei Rachmaninoff. The demanding piece is widely regarded as one of the most challenging concertos in the standard piano repertoire and one that most pianists refuse to play.
Vanderbosch was midway through when he started to shake and convulse while letting out a blood curdling scream. Audience members assumed the Rach 3 was taking its toll on the pianist, until they heard him yell, "Bees".
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Welcome, welcome to my trials and trevails in the unpredictable world of food tasting. I have traveled the globe, dined with dignitaries, and savored delicacies (and occasional atrocities) from Aruba to Zimbabwe. To put it mildy, I know food.
I am, of course, Chauncey St. Bernard, but I'm sure you already knew that.
This week I attempted something different and lowered my standards (oh the horror) to sample some 'fast food'. I know what you're thinking, "dear Lord Chauncey how could such a refined and revered beacon of class and distinction stoop so low?"
Well trust me dear readers, it shan't happen again, that I can tell you.
The reason for my treasonous act was simple and innocent. Curiosity.
KFC (yes that greasy old clucker from Kentucky) has created a media blitz with its new chicken "sandwich" called the 'Double Down'. I, like many others, was curious about a breadless sandwich that consists of two boneless chicken filets filled with two types of cheese, two pieces of bacon, and a secret sauce. Intriguing.
I rubbed elbows with the common folk, they of their Walmart purchased attire and Flowbee vacuumed haircuts. A moment of weakness, one I will not be repeating any time soon.
I stepped up to the counter with perspiring brow and heavy heart, and ordered one 'Double Down' sandwich and a diet soda.
I sat down in a filthy corner table, tucked a paper napkin in my shirt collar, blessed myself, and began a frightful journey that will haunt me to my dying days (which could be any day after that "sandwich").
The saliva in my mouth immediately dried up from the enormous amount of sodium contained in the stringy chicken filets and limp bacon. I drained my soda container dry in one panicked sip, and ran screaming up to the fountain for an emergency refill. The patrons stared at me as if I were a three legged leper.