09 December 2005

Dropping Packets

“Do you know anything about the blood splatters on the bathroom wall?” asked the boss.

“Why do you assume that I would know anything about it?” I replied self-righteously.

“Well, your name does seem to crop up in association with bloodstains here.”

Hmmm. He did have a point.

“Well, you see, I was shaving, and…” The rude bastard cut me off.

“Don’t give me that.” He snapped “You have a full beard!”

“No, not my face. You see for aerodynamic purposes I was shaving down below, and..”

“Okay, that’s enough!” He said nervously. I ignored him.

“Well, you know how vascular penii are and ..”

“STOP IT!” He looked about nervously. People were starting to eavesdrop.

Too bad. He started it, I was going to take it to the bloody conclusion.

“Well, I’ve got this short Irish number, legacy of centuries of winters in kilts no doubt, and the straight razor…”

He walked briskly back to his office with his hands over his ears.

"IT'S JUST GOOD FOR OUR INSURANCE PREMIUMS THAT I KEEP A BOTTLE OF SUPERGLUE IN THE BATHROOM, THAT’S ALL I’M SAYING!” I shouted at his retreating back.

Shortly, Irish Bob showed up in my doorway with a cup of coffee.

“What was that all about?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, Bob. Something about bloodstains in the Bog.”

Bob snorted. “Those aren’t bloodstains, I left a couple of ketchup packets under the commode seat for you.”

“Well, you missed me, Bob, but check out the seat of the boss’s linen pants!”


And that's the way I likes it.