Monday, October 04, 2004

Topic: Staples

Ok, I think it would be fun (for me anyway) if any of you reading these (if indeed you exist) could perhaps post in my comments some random things for me to ramble about/postulate on/write an incoherent diatribe on. So feel free.

In a small town in the midwest, there existed an angry midget. This little person, who shall be referred to hereafter as Skinny Schleppy the Ringworm (despite his morbid obesity and total lack of ringworm), had only one goal in life. His simple goal: total worldwide staple manufacturing domination. Schlep, while hating paper in all its forms (trees, boxes, origami, etc.), was a fanatic collating machine. Rarely a day passed that the rotund ankle-biter didn't go through at least a crate of staples in his mad handout preparing fury. In order to minimize his contact with his document nemesis, our tiny termite infested friend fed his freshly stapled piles directly into an incinerator so powerful that it could consume an entire giant festival pumpkin in seconds.

In an effort to bring about his greatest dream, Schlep armed himself with a flamethrower and a battleax twice his own size and dragged his girth down to his local Staples superstore. Since he had done this every day for at least six years, no one was really surprised to see him as he used his forehead to push open the door and positioned himself in the entrance. He looked about, always, for something to stand on, that he might wow the masses with his incredible... lack of shame. He spotted a convenient display and clambered atop it, dragging his ridiculous battleaxe and flamethrower.

As he mounted his podium, red-faced and puffy from the walk to the store and the harsh climb up Mt. Display-of-Stuff, he began to intone an oft-repeated speech in a high, squeaky voice.

"Good citizens of Earth, I implore you to heed my words, as they prophesy your DOOM. This place, called by the name Staples, is blasphemy against the very fabric of creation. Staples were created in times long past by a glorious God who never intended that they serve with paper in any way at all. I AM THE DOOMSLAYER. I SHALL BRING YOU TO JUSTICE." He looked down-or tried to, he actually had to look up at the person standing next to him. "What business have you with me, you demented knave?"

"You're standing on a stack of paper bales."

Schleppy let out an inarticulate scream of rage, like you do, and aimed the nozzle of his flamethrower at the offending boxes of hideous tree offal.

And thus ended the pointless saga of an overweight, mentally unstable midget with chronic halitosis.

And thus ended another 20 minutes at work. Hey, you try and write an interesting story about staples.

2 Comments:

Blogger Riker said...

Being that you're now a member of the left-coast population, you ought to describe to us how life in Cali is different than life in upstate New York. For those of us (like myself) who've never been out west, we might find your words, whatever they be, to be the definitive source for such information. We can trust that your perspective would be a fair and accurate one, and would have no cause to question anything you say.

October 4, 2004 at 9:39 PM  
Blogger Andrey said...

Perhaps you could offer up an informative back-story on this "Skeletor McKnuckles" chap...

October 5, 2004 at 9:17 AM  

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