Backstabbing, he wrote

(The following story takes place in any publisher's office of any modern-day newspaper USA. While our story is a fictional one, parts of it are based on actual past events. No actual names have been used.)

The newspaper editor walked into the publisher's office, slowly closing the door behind him.

"The deed is done, sir," he said, his shifty eyes twitching behind his designer frames. "I fired the employee that griped about you changing vacation policy during a hurricane evacuation."

The publisher laughed and blew a smoke ring from his cigar that he wished he could have lit off of an employee's paycheck.

"Good," he said. "He needed to go. We should have fired him back when he actually stood up for himself and his family the first time. The little twerp! Ha, ha! The joke is on him! I didn't even include that policy in the new employee handbook!"

The editor's eye's widened.

"You don't think he actually read the new handbook, do you?" he asked.

"Of course not!" the publisher said, roaring with laughter. "Who actually reads the handbook? Bwhaa ha ha! So, what did you get the guy for?"

"Oh it was brilliant," the editor said, a sneer coming across his face. "I said that his termination was because he used a company computer to access a Web site, that he regularly posts on, on a day that all city, school, county and chamber offices in his coverage area were closed!"

The publisher let out a huge belly laugh, snorting a little at the thought.

"That was a genius move," he said. "I'm sure that everyone in the newsroom was doing things along the exact same lines that day! There was nothing for anyone to really work on that day!"

"Of course they were," the editor said, almost giddy with excitement now. "My employees use their company computers for personal things like checking their MySpace profiles, Facebook profiles, watching videos on YouTube, listening to music and sending and checking personal e-mails! I mean, they do it all the time!"

The publisher leaned back in his chair, propping his shiny, designer shoes up on the desk.

"Well, good work," he said. "Anytime an employee stops being a good, little robot we have to take measures like this to keep all the others in line. Do you think he'll file an appeal since this was an obvious case of harassment against him and only against him, since we know good and well that most everyone else here does what we fired him for?"

The editor chuckled.

"You really think that I'm worried about that?" he asked. "Oh please! Remember that time he posted a blog saying that he couldn't believe that professional reporters would say blatant untruths in the newsroom about a local organization in the area? We punished him instead and just swept it all under the rug! He knows better than to waste his time with an appeal by now."

The publisher nodded his head.

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," he said. "So, I guess we are in the clear and have nothing to worry about from him anymore?"

"Of course," the editor said as he turned to walk out the door. "After all, he's just a humor writer now. Who'd believe him?"

"True," the publisher said. "So, I guess it's back to business as usual getting our reporters to write for print, online and shoot video all for the pay of only writing for newsprint?"

And with that, both the publisher and editor collapsed on the floor in uncontrollable laughter. But it was only funny to them...

A really bad Good Friday

So I actually got out of bed, got dressed and came into work this morning. Why did I go to work on a holiday you may be asking yourself? Well, it turns out that Good Friday is not a holiday.

I know, I know. I could not believe it either at first. But then my job gave me a new handbook the other day to read. And, on the page listing the holidays, guess what? Good Friday is not listed!

Never mind that this day is supposed to bring into remembrance the actual death of Christ upon the cross for the sins of the entire world past, present, and future. I mean, how much holier could a holiday get? But I guess my job does not think Christ’s sacrifice affords me a three-day weekend and a possible barbecue at the beach.

So here I am, sitting at my desk bored as – it’s Good Friday and alternatives must be used – heck, as this has been the productivity of my day:

I think I’ll call the city offices and see what’s going on toda … Oh wait! That’s right, it’s Good Friday so no one is there!

Well, I’ll just try the school dist … Oh snap (as the kids say)! No one is there either! I wonder if that is because it’s, oh I don’t know, Good Friday perhaps?

Alright, I guess I’ll drive down to the Chamber of Commerce and see if they know of any … Guess what? They are closed too for, oh my goodness, can it be because of … GOOD FRIDAY?!? Well, I’ll be a monkey's uncle! (Not possible in Kansas, by the way.)

So, I’ll end this with a very hearty and sincere hope that everyone has a truly Good Friday and a very Happy Easter. And, if you have a spare minute amidst having all your work-free fun today, feel free to give me a call.

Because I really am bored as heck.

A drug-free April Fools Day

SEATTLE — During a rare collaboration this morning, Layne Staley and Kurt Cobain joined forces for an acoustic concert and speaking engagement at Ballard High School for the Parent Teacher Association’s third annual drug-free rally.

“When the school board asked me to come in and do this, I thought to myself, you know maybe I should bring in another advocate for the war on drugs,” Cobain, former front man of alternative rock band Nirvana from 1989 to 1994 and founder of national anti-drug organization N.A.D.S. (Narcotics Are Dangerous Substances), said. “So, I gave Layne a call and he said he would definitely rearrange his schedule to be here.”

Staley, former lead singer of the grunge-rock band Alice in Chains from 1990 to 1996, has been living on a secluded ranch in northern Montana since getting out of rehab in October of 2000, doing solo shows and running a small management company.

“When Kurt called me up I was like, hell yeah man,” Staley said. “If we can keep just one of these kids from making the same stupid mistakes we did when we were younger then it will definitely be worth it. Kurt has been doing a lot of good on his own, so I was real surprised he’d ask me to join up for this event. But I’m glad that he did.”

Cobain and Staley ripped through acoustic renditions of “Drain You,” “Rape Me” and “We Die Young” before speaking to approximately 650 kids in attendance in the school’s gymnasium. They concluded the event with “Lithium” and “What The Hell Have I” to massive cheers.

Staley spoke first about the dangers of heroin and how using milder drugs can lead to harder ones.

“I was (expletive) up everyday,” he told the students. “I know I shouldn’t say that in a high school setting, but there is no other way I know to describe what I was except (expletive) up. If you think drugs are the way to have a good time, I can tell you first hand that you are making a very stupid choice. They will only kill your soul and then leave you out to dry.”

Cobain said that using drugs led him down a dark path which put him into some awkward situations.

“I started to feel as if I was really losing my mind,” he said. “I stopped eating for a period of time and would wake up not knowing what day or even what year it was. Probably the worst thing drugs did to me was cloud my judgment, which led to me marrying Courtney Love. When I finally sobered up in ‘98, divorcing that skank was the first thing I did.”

Cobain, who is now married to tennis pro Anna Kournikova, said he has a renewed vision of life now which lets him know he can make it without drugs ruling his every move.

“I am a better man now,” Cobain said in conclusion. “And no drug could have ever done that for me.”

Rachel Appleton, 18, a senior at Ballard High, said that she found the rally to be very informative.

“I’ve already made up my mind to be drug free,” Appleton said. “But hearing these guys just bare their soul today let me know that I’ve made the right choice for my life.”

Sean Rainer, 16, a Ballard High sophomore, said that he will take Cobain and Staley’s words to heart.

“I started smoking marijuana three years ago, but I found that I only did it to look cool in front of my friends and not because it made me happy,” he said. “Actually it just made me eat more and get fat. After today, I’m with Mr. Staley. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life all (expletive) up.”

Accepting the middle-age mentality

About a year ago, the first sign of middle age gripped me in its semi-bony grasp and slapped me down to Earth, face first I might add. I speak of course of me and my stupid brain, thinking I am still able to run like I did when I was 16 years old, deciding to play a church softball game.

It seemed that no sooner had I got on base, I was put into a double-play situation, which meant I really had to book it in order to reach the next bag. Unfortunately, the way that I “book it” now is quite pitiful really.

Halfway between second and third base I heard a loud SNAP! as a pain shot up my leg like a runaway train, barreling a hot, burning sensation straight into my groin area and into any other body region that it could reach.

So, the lesson I walked away with, or limped away with as the case turned out, was that a 30-year-old hamstring does not respond as well as a 15-year-old hamstring. And of course that everyone watching you hobble to third base like a dying, wounded duck would rather laugh at you hysterically instead of help you to the dugout.

Since that time, I have stayed away from any sporting event that is not safely on television, meaning that there is no way I can possibly participate. In this manner, I felt that I was safe from suffering any further injury to my obviously pathetic frame.

Wrong!

Just the other day, I noticed that my right ankle was throbbing in a way that felt as if my entire foot wanted to just break and fall off of my leg. I started thinking of how I could have hurt my ankle and after racking my brain about it came to a startling conclusion: I hadn’t done anything.

That’s right. Thanks to this wonderful middle-age syndrome, I am now apparently able to hurt myself just by standing up and walking, further proving that my youth is eternally over and that I am basically surviving with one hurting foot in the grave. But I am not alone in this regard.

The other day my wife and I were listening to a comedian while driving in the gas-guzzling SUV and she started laughing extremely hard. You know the type laugh I mean. It was the kind of laugh that if you were drinking milk it would have come flying right out of your nose. Anyway, the next thing I know, we are pulling into a gas station.

“Why are we stopping here?” I asked.

“I think I just peed on myself,” my wife replied, and then she bolted for the restroom.

And I guess that is why we really get married when we are young. It certainly isn’t for all the hot, horny sex. That pretty much goes into hiding the minute your first child is born. No, the reason we get married is so we can grow old together, laughing at our partner’s expense whenever something new goes wrong due to our bodies breaking down and the cruelty of just life in general. And we learn to laugh it off and accept it.

Because let’s face it. In our current conditions, if we tried to retaliate we’d only end up maiming or killing ourselves to a chorus of hysterical laughter.

'Vacation, all I ever wanted'

My family and I returned home from our vacation to Disney World, in Florida, on Sunday afternoon and, I got to tell you, my kids could be the poster children for the (insert name of national airline)’s next commercial.

I can see it now. Let’s say Southwest wanted to shoot a new commercial. The first shot would be the inside of our Trailblazer:

Olivia: Owww! He’s pulling my hair!

Ean: Heh, heh, heh!

Olivia: STOP IT!!!!

Ean: WAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Olivia: He won’t stop crying! He’s hurting my ears! WAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Ean (louder): WAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

Kelly: BOTH OF YOU BE QUIET RIGHT NOW! ONE … TWO …

Both kids (even louder): WAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

Me (thinking): I need a drink.

You get the idea. Just seeing it for 30 seconds before some catchy Southwest slogan, you would have already made up your mind to fly. Either that or buy massive quantities of Benadryl. Lucky for us, we traveled at night so the kids slept some of the way.

But at least I escaped from my job for a week, so I couldn’t complain too much. Besides the fact that our little stopover in Destin to play at the beach turned sour with 50-degree weather and high winds. That and the heated pool was not so heated.

Upon arriving at Disney World, the cold weather followed us for a couple of days, which led to us freezing in high winds while waiting on the bus to get back to our resort once Epcot closed.

But then the weather cleared up and we actually had a good time over the next few days, taking pictures with Disney characters, watching Olivia’s face light up seeing Cinderella’s castle for the first time, and me ripping my pants trying to get Ean onto the Grand Prix cars ride. Yep, it was a dream come true.

Well, until we tried to get our laundry done at the resort before our trip home that is. Finding which washing machine worked was like being on a mystery-quiz game show and we gave up on the dryers after $10 and three hours of each just flipping our wet clothes around with no heating element. This led to us hanging wet clothes up on every available space inside our hotel room like Maw and Paw Kettle.

The next day, we started back on the road and did just fine, amidst a little more screaming from the kids, until we got to Baton Rouge. When we stopped for dinner our headlights went out on the Trailblazer, leaving us no option but to drive with our high beams on and follow ten feet behind diesel trucks so as not to blind oncoming traffic.

But even with all this, I still say it was all worth it. To totally forget about my job for an entire week made the entire trip worthwhile.

And I even got a picture of me with Goofy to prove it.

The bowels of Hell

So there I was, standing in an aisle with kitchen stools and pretending to look at text messages on my cell phone in Vidor Wal-Mart at 11 p.m. on Friday. The sign on the men’s bathroom door read “Closed for cleaning,” and so I found myself in a very awkward situation. For anyone who has seen the movie “Rat Race,” you are no doubt familiar with the term “prairie-dogging.” And that is just what I was doing, for the second time in a week.

How had I gotten to this point? Well, if you knew my wife you would not be asking that question.

While at the mall the previous Tuesday night, my wife decided to stop into the local vitamin store and talk with the perky sales clerks there about cleansers. While my wife talked to the salesman, who just from the corner of my eye seemed to live on caffeine and energy drinks, I was busy trying to keep my small son from pulling everything off the racks or going outside the store.

When my wife turned in my general direction and asked “Greg, do you want to do this?” I said “Sure.” Now I realize that I should have been paying more attention, but I will admit I was more worried about my son leaving the store and interrupting a drug deal taking place on a mall bench somewhere. So when we got to our vehicle, she showed me what she had bought: colon cleansers.

“The guy said that you can lose up to 10 pounds in a week by expelling the waste in your colon that has built up over the years, so I got us both some,” my wife said. “He said that after John Wayne died they found 45 pounds of excess waste in his colon.”

Well, that was a little too much information to learn about the Duke, and I knew by waste that the sales guy really meant crap, but I figured what could it hurt? So I decided to try it. And that is when everything went south … literally.

I will admit the first day wasn’t that bad. But the second day caught me in the parking lot at work, and unfortunately it was with my pants up. (I say this because being caught with your pants down in this type of situation would actually be better for you.) I had gone out to get a bottle of water from my truck, as I had done what I usually do when I got to work that morning and forgot to take it inside. So there I was, standing next to my truck door with my butt cheeks clenched together in a sweat-inducing squeeze, hoping on top of hope none of my coworkers would come walking by. My gut felt as if it would explode as I leaned against the truck in agony, while I tried to keep a normal look on my face as traffic drove by.

Once the urge to crap my pants eased, I scurried as quickly as I could back into the building and miraculously made it to the elevator, as I couldn’t trust my sphincter to the stairs. But as I rode up to the second floor, where a bathroom sits right where the doors open, the urge hit me again. When the doors opened, I was tempted to take little bunny hops into the bathroom in order to keep control, but there were advertisers walking around the department, so I had to waddle as inconspicuously as I could into the men’s room.

Now, you are probably thinking that a sane man would have said “That’s that!” right then and there, went home and poured Satan’s colon pills into the garbage disposal. Oh no, not me! Figuring that was a one time occurrence, I continued to take the pills.

And that led to me not being able to make it home from Beaumont Friday night, to the privacy of my own bathroom, forcing me to stop at the Wal-Mart store and do my dance of pain in the cheap furniture aisle while the cleaning crew took their dear, sweet time to tidy up the men’s room. And it was then and there that I made my decision: screw the 10 pounds.

I realized that losing the excess waste was not worth losing my dignity should my swampy two-step fail to work one day. Besides, even if I lost the weight, I’m sure that my wife would still tell me from time to time that I am full of crap. But I’m cool with that.

Because if it’s good enough for John Wayne, then it’s good enough for me.

Out of the mouth of babes’ toys

I’ve never really believed in subliminal messages. Ozzy Osbourne’s music never made me want to commit suicide (I can’t say whether or not it made my parents want to kill something, however) and Joe the Camel never made me want to light up a cig in my homeroom class at school back in 1991. I just did that to piss off my teacher.

A child of the 1980s, I grew up on cartoons where one-dimensional figures regularly blew up stuff and shot random amounts of people with laser cannons, yet I never had a desire to take a life. Well, except for ants and mosquitoes, but nothing other than that. And watching guys with six-pack abs and every hair in place drink Miller Lite never made me want to drink beer.

The half-naked bikini girls did that.

But now, we are being faced with the most detrimental subliminal message of all time, if you listen to railing clergy men and modern-day doomsday prophets. And this is 100 times worse than Tinky Winky being gay. (You remember that, right?) What is the cause of this latest catastrophic and perilous time? The Little Mommy Cuddle 'n Coo doll made by Fisher-Price.

According to various reports on the Internet, that we know are always true, this baby doll which coos and giggles due to motion activation, says “Islam is the light,” and it is going to brainwash every little girl in America along with every little brother to those girls, because little brothers love to take their sisters things in order to drive them crazy. I found this pretty intriguing.

So, my wife and I found one in a local department store and turned it on. The first couple of times we passed our hands in front of it, the doll made cooing baby noises like any normal baby that is stuffed with batteries would, I suppose. But the third time the cooing and giggling sounded very oddly like “Islam is the light.”

I found this to be a shocking revelation. Not what it was actually saying, mind you. I’ll let the hellfire and brimstone preachers worry about that one. No, what I found intriguing was the endless amount of possibilities this unlocks.

Think about it. If people are dumb enough to think that a child can be indoctrinated by a $10 baby doll more so than by watching their parents’ actions and mannerisms, then we really need to get on the bandwagon here. I mean come on, it is a lot easier to blame toymakers for decisions that kids will make rather than the parents who don’t know how to raise a child. Or that don’t even try to raise their child. You no doubt know the type of parents I am speaking of.

So, I have given this the deepest thought I can and I have come up with some more messages for Fisher-Price to put into their dolls. This way, I no longer have to worry about properly raising my children. Just to get started, here are a few examples of what they can program these dolls to say:

“Gabba goo dabba hee hee thbtttt!! Clean your room so your Daddy doesn’t step on some tiny plastic part of some godforsaken toy in the middle of the night after he turns your light out, cutting his foot open and causing him to say a lot of words you will get in trouble for saying if you ever repeat them!”

Gabba goo dabba hee hee thbtttt!! Learn to fix your own meals, wash your own clothes, and drive your self to your various practices so Mommy isn’t tired all the time and continually getting closer and closer to that nervous breakdown that causes her to burn down the house one day!”

“Gabba goo dabba hee hee thbtttt!! Start saving up your own money for college now because your Daddy works for a crappy newspaper salary!”

“Gabba goo dabba hee hee thbtttt!! Don’t ever watch stupid TV shows like ‘Rock of Love’ or else you might grow up to think that being in love actually means being a skanky whore with fake breasts that has sex with washed-up losers like Bret Michaels who couldn’t hold down a job at McDonald’s even if they tried!”

As our children get older, maybe we can get other important life lessons, such as money management and healthy eating habits, placed into their video games so we don’t have to bother with that either. And we won’t have to worry about a thing as we can depend on various objects to instruct our children what to do.

This will give us more time to smoke our cigarettes with Joe and look for those girls in bikinis. I’ve yet to have one show up.