Oh I'll tell you what I think is wrong. It's September 17th and this country has already moved on to the cold embraces of another professional sport, when a perfectly cromulent baseball battle is hitting its climax. As though it isn't enough to have all of the cold, dead winter to sit around inside on Sundays and jerk off with a chicken wing-stained hand while you eat sour cream and onion Ruffles with the other.
I had a pizza lunch at the office on Friday, compliments of another department whose bottom line is directly impacted by my good work. Our company's fiscal year starts anew on October 1st, so this is the home stretch for us to make them moneys, to get that extra dolla-dolla bill, y'all.
Any seasoned corporate employee knows to take free pizza with a grain of
salt red pepper. Free pizza is usually sandwiched (calzoned?) between horrifying events at work. It's supposed to make you feel important and appreciated for a moment. It's supposed to dull the pain before you return to your desk and see the new emails asking you to break your back some more, to bend over further, didn't you eat, like, four slices of free pizza you fat fuck, you totally owe that rich guy!
Pizza is actually worked into departments' annual budgets, fer fuckssake. Now. I'll eat a bunch of free food if given the opportunity because, simply, let's face it, momma didn't raise no fool. But you better believe I have a suspicious eyebrow raised the whole time I'm chewing!
So at this pizza lunch, the rich guy from the other department interrupted my good careless pizza times by busting into a speech about the end of the fiscal year approaching and how we need to buckle down and there's this many days left and don't we think we could do a little more, push a little harder, grub that cheese with wider paws.
By "cheese", I'm speaking dollars, of course. But isn't it convenient that money terms like "cheese" and "dough" are both essential ingredients of a pizza? You think that's an accident?
Now I couldn't remember Rich Guy's name to save my life, but I completely remembered from meeting him a long time ago, that he was a Boston Red Sox fan, which I questioned at the time. I learned that his excuse was he lived in Boston for two years in the 2000s, so he's a big, big Red Sox fan. Clearly. Go fuckin' figure. Aren't we all or something.
So he's already got that going against him by my book, and then he starts with this speech. And he digs deep way back into his anus and pulls out an analogy about how this is the end of the fiscal year and it's like "the 2-minute warning" in football. He fucking makes a football analogy, when the obvious and more apt analogy would perhaps be the home stretch of baseball season. You know, the sport whose season EXACTLY coincides with the end of our fiscal year.
Palm, meet Face.
I'm taking back this RRRR now because Kenwo so kindly stepped in for me last week (thank you, Kenwo!) and then posted some shit about fantasy football and I haven't wanted to open the thread again. I swear Herr Margalus put him up to that, to get me to be better about maintaining the Rumpus Room. Well played, Jim, well played.
I mean, look at this place. Half of the Christmas lights I strung last year for ambience are burned out. The Paulie bobblehead's head is all askew on its spring and not bobbling so well these days. Beer bottles are littering the floor. Mom hasn't brought down fresh cookies in, like, forever. And to make matters worse, your hands are already covered in five-alarm wing sauce and jizz. Oh look, Cutler's on the tv getting his ass handed to him. Again.
Shape up, Rumpusers. Our team is still in this race and goddammit, we might get to watch some October baseball with a real rooting interest. Interest? Scoff! Nay, a rooting LOVE! The RRRR may not be a thread created for baseball talk, but if we're going to discuss fantasy (read: bullshit) football, we may as well run completely amok and talk about the rest of the world's "football". You know the one.