The Morons Chronicles Presents:
Returning To My Roots

So here I sit, ready to write away.

Avery told us all to get our groove goin', beings that this issue is going to be a big one. So...shit...where'd I put that groove.

AHA! There it is. Wow, haven't seen it in awhile. Anyway, I guess I need to sort of test the waters here, and see if our editor will edit me.



FUCK FUCK FUCK. seems safe to proceed...

I've been thinking a lot lately about my old journal, Morons. It feels like polyester, actually. The kinda thing that was really cool to wear awhile ago, but now it's just plain goofy. (Or back in style, I can't figure those people out) My writing style has changed some, and after going back and reading an entry or two, I kind of miss being that sarcastic. I think the problem was material.

Case and point:

I go out for lunch just about every day. There's a spiffy little deli just a half mile from where I work and they make decent sandwiches to order. The cool thing is, they have that great Genoa salami and Mortadella that I adore. So I get a sandwich with above mentioned meats and some mayo, and mustard on a roll.

The ditzy bitch behind the counter asks me three or four times if I want it on a roll, and alas every time she asks it, she gets the same answer, "Yes, and poppy-seed is okay."

For some reason, they ONLY have poppies on their rolls. Whatever.

So I tell her to stick some provolone on it (gotta love the cheese) and I'll take it to go. She wraps it, I buy it, I go back to my office.

So I'm sitting at my desk and I unwrap this thing, and I swear it looks like somebody had a few hacks at it before I did. The bitch doesn't know how to cut a sandwich in half, so I had two halves of roll on top, half of the meat was cut in half, the rest was just sort of mangled and on one side, and about 2 inches thick. "CHRIST that's alotta meat!" I remember thinking when I unwrapped this meatwich.

I pick the damn thing up and mustonnaise (the gross combination of over a cup of mayo and mustard on one sandwich) squirts out the back and treats my ears to this splucking noise on an old tech case I'm taking care of for one of our key accounts. For joy.

After picking up the paper with aforementioned mayostard spluck, then using my pinky as a shovel to scoop off said substance into the garbage, I put the paper down and reach for a napkin.

Fuck. No napkins. Hate that bitch, she always forgets to stick the napkins in there. You know what looks real funny? The meatwich from hell in one hand, my mouth full of sandwich, mustonnaise stuck all over my goatee, and a pinky covered in this yellow-white-ish gook.

My phone rings. Hell no I'm not going to answer it. Our phones are nifty though, if someone calls internally, their name appears on this neat little lcd screen. It was (name removed due to stupidit -- err -- anonymity) Erwin.

Quick interlude about Erwin.

The guy's freaky. All he does is chow vitamins and make bad jokes. He thinks he's my superior although my track record in just a few months outdoes his track record of over half a year. He wears tight T-shirts, although he's got quite a measure of flab. He's one of those people who pulls his pants up to his nipples, has 3 inch floods above his ankles, greases his hair back and for some odd reason walks with his pelvis thrust before him. Not to mention the natural way he hangs his beefy arms down resembles basically a retarded gorilla.

Try walking this's interesting.

Anyway, he annoys me. So instead of answering this call, I decide to stand up, turn around, take two steps forward and speak to him. The guy sits next to me.

"You ever talk to this Sean guy?"

Okay, so he decided to leave out all that meaningless information like, oh say, LAST NAME, perhaps ... maybe the COMPANY this guy works for being that I ONLY talk to about 30 companies a day.

Mouthful of food at my disposal, I grunt a response, "Dunno."

"Are you on lunch?" Asks the Neanderthal.

I look at my sandwich, then look back at him. Before I am ABLE to respond, he asks again.

"Are you on lunch?"

Okay, I wanted to take the time to look at my sandwich, then look back at him and see if he could figure this out. I finish chewing. "No, Erwin, I grabbed this giant meat-laden snack out of the vending machine for fifty cents, wanna bite?"

What the fuck? "You're on lunch," he figures out all by himself, "That's all you had to say."

Okay, I could've taken another giant bite, then promptly stuck my tongue out and let the half-chewed mayostard meat-thing flop onto his keyboard while I calmly say, "I'm on lunch," but I don't know, I guess my manners prevailed. I won't let that happen again.

Calmly, while he abused the customer I was apparently taking care of some previous time, I finished my sandwich -- a difficult task on it's own, being the way it was cut at the deli. It was the kind of half-way cut that you couldn't just rip apart on your own, which I wouldn't mind. No. Instead, I had in my left hand this mustonnaise-covered hunk of poppy-seeded meat-thing, but only the top half of the sandwich, and in the other hand I had this three pounds of meatwich which I didn't know what the hell to do with. I have a big mouth and a bigger appetite, and I was simply stunned.

I licked off one of my fingers and wiped it against the paper bag I was using as a napkin, then clicked to open up trusty old Lotus Notes.

Whammo. An email from one of the monkey-techs working here. This is the subject line:

Re: Fwd: Fw: Fwd: Fwd: Fw: MICROSOFT

Oh great, this'll be fun. As I open up the mail, Rochelle, the 4 foot manager from the department next door comes by and mentions that we have an important email to look at. I figured the fact that she SENT it with an 'URGENT!' stamp on it meant we had to read it...or wait...did that mean I had to delete it? Hmm...glad she warned me.

So I sit at my desk literally cramming meat into my maw like a preternatural flesh-eating baboon, grumbling at the sneaking suspicion that I've received a hoax mail from a retarded computer technician. I grunt at Rochelle and open up the mail.

Now I'm greeted with line after line of forwarded email addresses lasting for approximately six pages followed by this message:

> > > > > >>>>> > << I am forwarding this because the person who
> > > > > >>>>> sent it to me is a very
> > > > > >>>>> > professional business person and a good friend
> > > > > >>>>> and does not send me
> > > > > >>>>> > junk.
> > > > > >>>>> > Microsoft and AOL are now the largest Internet
> > > > > >>>>> company and in an effort
> > > > > >>>>> > make sure that Internet explorer remains the
> > > > > >>>>> most widely used program,
> > > > > >>>>> > Microsoft and AOLare running an e-mail beta
> > > > > >>>>> test. When you forward this
> > > > > >>>>> > e-mail to friends, Microsoft can and will track
> > > > > >>>>> it (if you are a
> > > > > >>>>> > Microsoft Windows user) for a two week time
> > > > > >>>>> period. For every person
> > > > > >>>>> > that you forward this e-mail to, Microsoft will
> > > > > >>>>> pay you $245.00, for
> > > > > >>>>> > every person that you sent it to that forwards
> > > > > >>>>> it on, Microsoft will pay
> > > > > >>>>> > you $243.00 and for every third person that
> > > > > >>>>> receives it, you will be
> > > > > >>>>> > paid $241.00. Within two weeks, Microsoft will
> > > > > >>>>> contact you for your
> > > > > >>>>> > address and then send you a check. I thought
> > > > > >>>>> this was a scam myself,
> > > > > >>>>> > but two weeks after receiving this e-mail and
> > > > > >>>>> forwarding it on,
> > > > > >>>>> > Microsoft contacted me for my e-mail and within
> > > > > >>>>> days, I received a check
> > > > > >>>>> > for $24,800.00.
> > > > > >>>>> > You need to respond before the beta testing is
> > > > > >>>>> over.
> > > > > >>>>> > If anyone can afford this Bill Gates is the man.
> > > > > >>>>> It's all marketing
> > > > > >>>>> > expense to him.
> > > > > >>>>> > Do Well!!!

Needless to say I experienced utter elation at the delicious idea of getting a giant check from Microsoft and quickly forwarded the email to a bunch of people I know and love!


Dumb-ass sent this email to a bunch of co-workers. I just sat there stunned. Stunned at the notion that he (possibly) thought this was real. Then I heard him talking to one of the more senior techs here and he said, "Well, I didn't know if it was real or not, so I thought, what the hell, I'll just send it to everyone and hope that I get a check."

Somebody give me a crow-bar. I need to remove my brains. The fact that there are people that believe they will get a check from Microsoft because they forwarded an email that is somehow MAGICALLY tracked by Sorcerer Bill Gates as he sits in his office laughing at all of the retards who buy his products and slaps his computer monitor with his magical ruler while shouting, "BIPPITY BOPPITY BOO!" is enough for me to perform manual brain-liberation with a large rusty metal thing.

Anyway. This is the type of material I've been missing. Something strange about being at a tech job surrounded by professionals who really depress you because you realize they're making JUST AS MUCH MONEY AS YOU ARE WITH HALF OF THE BRAINS.

*le sigh*

That's all for now.