Thursday, October 13, 2005
Roles At Work
It’s Cross-Dressing Day and Finance males flaunt the trashy. In the hallway you nearly go blind from sequins. And miniskirts more like belts are so shocking that they threaten the continuance of this special event.
Additionally, florescent panties can't help.
Lucille “I know where the bodies are buried” of Purchasing is Romeo. She gives him an intellectual flip by repeating Hamlet's to be or not to be speech.
Hairy Al of Receiving, in a matronly coordination from Talbot's, pretends to be Juliet,but hair curls from under his starched dickey.
The kind of Juliet who has escaped directionless passion and serves on committees of blunt,plus-sized women swathed in scarves.
Anyway,these two cooked up their act at Maxie-O's, a chaotic blue-collar establishment. Which might explain a certain lack of polish?
Our CEO will be a May West knockout with the aid of a wig being fitted by Carlos of The Paris Salon.
The new hires, of course, demonstrate confusion. Many depict punk rockers of no apparent sexuality. And they mouth impromptu hip hop lyrics demeaning senior staff. They'll finally ruin everything for everybody.
Naturally those humorless “intellectuals” pretending to work among us pronounce more theories, quoting Freud's depraved nonsense. Swishing noises ultimately drown all their stuff out.
I wanted to wear a blocky mumu and pig's nose,like those raucous football fans,but my wife threatened divorce. How about some famous slut then?
"You? A slut? You don't have the balls for it!"
So, Puritan Maid. Goody Two-Shoes. Can't fool her.
It’s Cross-Dressing Day and Finance males flaunt the trashy. In the hallway you nearly go blind from sequins. And miniskirts more like belts are so shocking that they threaten the continuance of this special event.
Additionally, florescent panties can't help.
Lucille “I know where the bodies are buried” of Purchasing is Romeo. She gives him an intellectual flip by repeating Hamlet's to be or not to be speech.
Hairy Al of Receiving, in a matronly coordination from Talbot's, pretends to be Juliet,but hair curls from under his starched dickey.
The kind of Juliet who has escaped directionless passion and serves on committees of blunt,plus-sized women swathed in scarves.
Anyway,these two cooked up their act at Maxie-O's, a chaotic blue-collar establishment. Which might explain a certain lack of polish?
Our CEO will be a May West knockout with the aid of a wig being fitted by Carlos of The Paris Salon.
The new hires, of course, demonstrate confusion. Many depict punk rockers of no apparent sexuality. And they mouth impromptu hip hop lyrics demeaning senior staff. They'll finally ruin everything for everybody.
Naturally those humorless “intellectuals” pretending to work among us pronounce more theories, quoting Freud's depraved nonsense. Swishing noises ultimately drown all their stuff out.
I wanted to wear a blocky mumu and pig's nose,like those raucous football fans,but my wife threatened divorce. How about some famous slut then?
"You? A slut? You don't have the balls for it!"
So, Puritan Maid. Goody Two-Shoes. Can't fool her.
