Bones

I am pissed off at Hickory Farms. Yep, I am. I found another bone in my Hickory Farms andouille sausage. I want to write them a letter to tell them that I hate that they sold me sausages with bones but Office Raider tells me that I’m going to get “locked up” if I keep writing weird customer complaint letters. But what if I do it anyway? What if I write to Hickory Farms to tell them that I hate their boney sausages? How would I tell them?

Dear Hickory Farms,

Another day, another bone in one of my Hickory Farms sausages. Why do you sell me sausages with bones in them? Have I done something to make you think that I like sausages with bones in them? Because I don’t.

If I did want andouille sausages with bones in them, I would expect that I could select a package that would say, “includes bones” or “includes tasty bones” or “includes farm-fresh bones”, however you might say it. This package did not mention bones.

Please stop feeding me bones for dinner. As I said, I don’t like them.

Sincerely,

Office Knight

Everyone loves free stuff

As an office raider one of my many responsibilities is to deliver free branded items such as pens, pads, mints, little clocks etc etc. This is to remind the people in the office to utilize my important wares. Most of the time there are special receptionist guards that protect the office from too many raiders. These "guards" can always be swooned with a fancy pen or some hand sanitizer and I always found that a little too easy. I've seen people fight over some of the pens,making up sad stories about how they need one of these hot chachkes for their kid or something. I now understand. This past week I relieved myself from my office raiding duties to visit a land where the outrageous are even more outrageous and people wear high heals in the pool. One very special outrageous character who refers to himself and his clothing company as "Mr. Girth" gave me a free t-shirt... Between the free-ness of it and the caption that makes grown professionals behave like adolescents watching scrambled porn I was so excited that I reverted back to my fat-kid-in-a-pool style and wore it in the pool (no I wasn't wearing heals). The caption invited the most entertaining feedback such as I bet you do; Show me; Prove it and so on. Mind you the average age at this lovely function was probably over 30. Mr. Girth and his free t-shirts was adored like an office raider with a free pen that doubles as a memory stick...Except he was drifting around with a gaggle of well endowed strippers instead of receptionists. For the sake of sounding like a fortune cookie (which people fight over as well)...In business and in pleasure giving people something can give you much in return
www.mrgirth.com

Is it me or...

is this photo kind of pervy? CNN published this photo a few months ago for a story on the gas crisis. If I were a photo editor, I'd definitely pick the pervy-est photos even for boring stories like the gas crisis.

Jo Burnism: Rembuh to Hide in the Bushes!

Jo Burn and sister Cath and I recently got into a bit of a tangle over the appropriate safety precawtion to undertake when one experiences a flat tire in a “dangerous” neighborhood.

Jo: Hey listen, I read an e-mail letta that someone in the owfice sent me. Its impow-tant. A police officah sent it. It said you should neva stay in ya cah (car) if it breaks down, becaws that’s exactly where the murderuh’s ah gonna look.

Me: I don’t understand. If your car breaks down, and you’re in a bad neighborhood, where are you going to go that’s safer?? Why wouldn’t you just lock the door and call the tow truck or the police?

Jo: BECAWS…while ya sitting theah, cawlin…they’ll be watchin..and then they’ll bust through the winda, and do Gahd knows what!!!

Me: SOOOO, I don’t understand….where else are you going to go??

Jo: The BUSHES!! You hide in the bushes. The’ll neva know you’re thea. You make the phone cawl from the bushes.

Cath: (hands flailing) Fuhgetit Jo, I’m drivin on the damn flat tiuh (tire) till I find a ghas (gas) station. I don’t care if I ruin the damn cah (car) or tiah or whateva!!

Jo: (hands flailing even more) NONONONONO! CATH! What if you CAN’T drive the cah anymoa. Then you GOTTA hide in the bushes! Undastand??

Cath: Fuget the bushes!

Me: Yea, FUGET THE BUSHES!

--Owfice Burn

Q: What is a tanning salon accident?

A: Tanning salon accident is a term used to describe the conspicuous lobster-esque hue that results from laying below a set of UV ray emitting flash bulbs for a little too long. How do people get tanning salon accidents? One culprit is the junky $5 tanning bed in the back of your "mom & pop" gym’s menthol-scented locker room. The people that man that seldomly-santized capsule have very, very little interest in dissuading you from putting your pale-self in for 20 minutes to "prepare" you for your trip to the Carribean. Then there are your more "upscale" or commercial tanning salons. This is where you find yourself signing forms and giving your entire sun-exposure history to some 16 year-old with bigger tits than you. Then she wants to shove $45/oz tanning "primer" down your throat to help "ya culla develop and last longa." Anyway, my point? These places want to avoid tanning salon accidents at all costs to the point where you waive your right to bitch at them and blame them for your new borsht-like complexion. Then you have to compromise your integrity by "haggling" with teen-titty to get a few extra minutes normally reserved for your melanin-ly gifted folk by claiming you’ve never burned. This is for the overzealous, procrastinating "occasion" tanner. You’re meeting up with an ex for the first time that dumped you to "focus on his career;" You’re going to a wedding and you’ll be face to face with the guy you had a sloppy, drunken one-night stand, who happens to be one of the groomsmen… who you’ve not seen since you called him "cowboy" at 4am. These, my friends, are the worst cases of tanning salon accidents.

This Just In...

Someone named Juana accidentally poured a milkshake on Office Raider at a midtown Starbucks. Office Raider reports that her shirt is “soiled”. She might have to go home.

Everyone take a moment to pray for Office Raider’s shirt.

Public Service Announcement

This might come across as extremely judgmental...BUT it occurred to me when I was retrieving a friendster message from someone that wanted me to "holla back" that one should really think twice about ever contacting someone on the internet whose profile ONLY contains images of them taking pictures of themselves. Like the gross one where there's a big flash in the mirror and you can see some silly person posing in their boxers but you can't really see their face or the one where someone's neck looks all stretched out and you can see up their nose 'cause they're holding the camera out in front of them. The reason I say think twice is having only pictures of yourself taken by yourself is very odd considering it's not 1999 when digital cameras were like $900.00 and only one person per state had one. Everyone has digital cameras now so don't you think it's odd that there are no pictures of this person on a trip or maybe even at a bar...what about a wedding or something? Furthermore, why doesn't this person have anyone around to take a picture of them. Where are their friends? Do they not have any friends? Have they never gone anywhere? Or are they that, um, well icky that all the pictures of them on their vacations or at their graduations turned out really bad? Do you really want to be someone's guinea pig friend? --Office Raider

Thoughts from the Office

As I sit in my office cubicle, I find myself thinking of very important childhood memories like the time that I made a large fortune picking blueberries.

Every summer, I would visit grandparents Office Knight in Washington State. Besides having tons of soda and 2 large freezers full of ice cream, they had a blueberry patch. Picking blueberries rocked because Grandpa Office Knight would always put them in a bag, bring them to his church and sell them for a few dollars to a lucky parishioner. A few bucks here, a few bucks there and I was starting to feel like a very successful fruit vendor.

One day, Grandpa Office Knight informed me that he had received an order from his church friend for 20 pounds of blueberries! I knew that this was my chance to become a very wealthy child fruit vendor so I quickly took my silver bowl and headed to the blueberry patch.

Within a couple of hours I brought the silver bowl, now brimming with blueberries, to Grandpa Office Knight who promptly put them on the scale.

“2.5 pounds,” he said.

I quickly realized that my fruit vendor career was going to be extremely challenging so I begged my sister, Office sister, to join me out in the fields with the promise of large fortunes for both of us.

Off we went to begin filling our silver bowls. At first it was fine. We sang 80’s songs and talked about how we could negotiate a trip to establishments of culinary excellence like McDonald’s. As the time passed, tensions began to mount as we realized we had collected just a small fraction of the 20 lb order.

She claimed that I stepped on her toe on purpose (which I didn’t) and swiftly tossed her bowl of blueberries at my face—perhaps mimicking the mature pie-smashing antics of the Three Stooges. As the portrait of child serenity, I threw my bowl back at her. Now we had 0 pounds of blueberries. Grandparents Office Knight were called to intervene and quickly counseled us on our fruit picking obligations.

The next day, Office sister and I toiled again in the fields vowing not to lose our blueberry crop during heated discussions. Although we adhered to our plan, Office sister stepped on a banana slug in bare feet and in fright, threw our crop into the air. In thinking that perhaps she had been attacked by something very scary, I dropped my bowl and ran away.

My career as a fruit vendor was in serious jeopardy so Grandpa Office Knight stepped in and labored in the blueberry patches until the order was filled.

“How much will we make per pound,” I asked Grandpa Office Knight as he loaded the bags of blueberries into his car.

He muttered something about being a good Christian as he announced that he would be collecting 60 cents/lb or a total of twelve damn dollars.

This concludes today’s important office thoughts.

Owfice Moms

I love the idea that the office operates like a disfunctional family. it really does. i don't care how fancy and corporate you think your firm is. you still have annoying office siblings and there is ALWAYS a cranky but loving office mom. my office mom is cawled Lois. it's her job to bring "cheese an crackas" for everyone on tuesday morning's and "downuts and bagels" on thurdays. she sends out "remindah" e-mails scoldin' people for leaving dirty dishes in the sink "'cause it's disgustin'!!" or threatening, "claim what yuas in the fridge, 'cuz it's awl gettin' towsed out on friday!" She gets fed up when the owfice children act up, ask huh too many questions or leave their toys (aka staplers, binders, paper clips) strewn about the owfice.

--Owfice Burn

Jo Burn-ism: Be Safe. Wear Sweats

I received a phone call from Mother Jo Burn recently that went something like this:

Me: “Hello”

Jo Burn: “When you go runnin’ do you wea shoats (shorts)?” (Note: there was no greeting, just this question presented in an urgent panicky tone.)

Me: “Ummm, yea. It’s the summer and I live in Brooklyn. I confess I do wear shorts when I run. WHY???”

Jo Burn: (Super agitated) “Well, you ah NOT to wear shoats! Do you undastand me? I saw a intaview with a police officah who said runnin shoats attract attention. You ahh not to attract attention. That’s how people get murdered!! Do you want to be murdered??”

Me: “No, I don’t want to be murdered. What do you propose I wear then?”

Jo Burn: “Sweat pants. Baggy sweat pants. They’re safe."

Me: “Sweat pants. Yes. Great idea. I’ll go buy some right now.”

Moral of the story: Be safe. Wear sweats.

The Google Images

Just to satisfy your own curiosity, this is me according to google images.

--Owfice Burn

Because It's Un-Natcheral

Why is it that whenever someone says that marriage should be "between a man and a woman", they always have a hick accent?

And on the topic of rejecting gay marriage rights, shame on New York State’s courts for acting like creepy bigot judges from the 1800’s.

Wash Your Fruit

I like to buy raspberries from the illegal fruit dealers on the street. I say they're illegal only because why are their raspberries only 2 plastic thingy's for $4.00 (no they're not all smashed) and the grocery stores have them for like $6.99 a plastic thingy? By the way, I don't want some ass to send me an analysis on why the illegal fruit dealers' fruit would be less 'cause they have less overhead, employees...blah, blah, blah. I digress.

The other day I was gleefully eating them sans washing them and Office Knight told me that I should really wash them first and I totally brushed it off, I did, I gave it really no thought. Well today I went to enjoy my usual handfuls of raspberries that I actually stir into plain yogurt, if you must know. So I'm dropping them in (unwashed of course) 3 or 4 at time and then stirring them in, repeat and on the third load I notice that inside one of the raspberries they're is some green asshole-worm all curled up in there!! How many of these have I stirred in? Oh, I was just so grossed out and annoyed. So I ditched the raspberry that had the green guy living in it and I kinda looked at my well stirred cup of yogurt and thought...ah well, next yea

I betcha you can look forward to Office Knight writing a letter to the USDA on my behalf.

A Heartwarming Tale of Heroism in the Workplace

Guest Blogger Owfice Hero Contributed the Following Inspirational Owfice Story:

I just became the Owfice Hero. CEO's iPod was dead. Mind you this is the DELUXE U2 iPod that holds 3500 songs and has all of U2's signatures laser etched into the back of it...the fancy one that is black with a red dial. It had been charging all night and wouldn't even turn on.

Good thing Owfice Hero knew that every so often you have to reboot your iPod. When CEO was in crisis, I quickly googled "reboot iPod" -

CEO: "Maybe I need to get a new iPod? How many songs does a nano have? Do you have a nano?"
Office Hero (thanking God that she got one for Christmas): "I have the big one and it holds 1,000 songs - but that's plenty for me"
CEO: "That's all?!?!? This one holds 3500 songs its 4 gigs"
Office Hero: "Wow!! I've found it pretty ok with just 1,000 songs, I only use about 700."

After holding down the combination of buttons...Voila!!! DELUXE SUPER BESTEST iPod in the world turns on.

CEO then proclaims (and practically jumps in the air): "YES!! Look at that, you're the best!! Thank you so much!!" and proceeds to bend over my shoulder and KISS OFFICE HERO ON THE CHEEK.

Whoa?!?! Office Hero thinks that's slightly stepping over the line and feels a little bit violated. Office Hero never really expected to feel the CEO's stubble on it's skin....AWKWARD...YUCK..GROSS. Office Hero's do NOT need kisses for being heros.

After a rave review from everyone in the surrounding area and praise from my fellow Office-mates for being the Office Hero - the following occurs

Office Hero: (and yes, Office Hero said this) "so does that constitute for a raise?!"
CEO: No, but I will definitely buy you lunch. You got my iPod working, not me working!

Again - AWKWARD...YUCK..GROSS...

Office Hero will take the free lunch nonetheless.

Lesson of the day from Office Hero: learn how to reboot an iPod. Just hold down the Menu and Select buttons simultaneously.

Office Raider vs. the Meanest Person in the World

The meanest person in the world from ebay was so mean that her slanderous correspondence with Office Knight bothered Office Raider despite the fact that Office Raider had nothing to do with it. It was clear that the meanest person in the world had the patience and personality of a person who had been at the DMV for 7 hours so Office Raider thought to test that by sending her a message on ebay regarding one of her other items, another antique (aka old and crappy) watch. Office Raider wrote (trying to sound like a big, not so funny idiot)

Hi. I was curious where you find this watch. it looks so much like my grandmother's ! It would be nice to have in family again. Where did you get it? Hope ya didn't dig up her old bones...just a joke. anyway...would you consider lowering the opening price?

She replied
I got it at a private sale and no I will not lower the price

Office raider could tell by the curt response that she was annoyed and hoped that she would reconsider her measly, dusty watch selling career on ebay

Jo Burn-ism: "Aw Well, Next Yea!"

Office Burn's mother, Jo Burn is famous for her unique life advice and perspective. The Zen phrase, “Aw well next yea!” has become something of a life philosophy for Knight, Raider and me. It stands for the idea of letting go and not wasting time beating up oneself over anything whatsoever.

The term came about on Easter morning, when Owfice Burn called Mother Jo Burn at her sister Cath's home. Cath is a single corporate mom with two small children. She tends to run her family like a corporation, and often overlooks details such as, "easta baskets." Owfice Burn called to wish everyone a happy Easter, and inquired as to how the children enjoyed their Easter treats. Jo burn then puts down the phone and yells, "Hey Cath, How’d the kids like their Easta baskets?" Cath gasps, and replies, "AWWWWW Gawd, I fuhgot!" In her irrepressible optimism, Jo shouts back, "Ohhhh...Aw well, next yea!"

We apply this saying to every life scenario, particularly those where the oversight is one of crucial importance. You should too!

Happy 4th of July

We're just gettin' back into town, hope you had a nice 4th!

Moo

Are these earings too much?

--Office Raider

Becaws, That's Why

Owfice Burn turned into Lizzy Grubman because that's what important celebrity types do when things don't go exactly their way. They take control of the situation, particularly when they are driving sporty saabs, donning designer shades, platinum highlights, and a slinky black dress. Luckily Owfice Burn had just returned from a zen inspired massage retreat in China Town where she learned the true meaning of inner peace. Had she not just experienced this spiritual awakening, she might have really gone off the deep end.
--Owfice Burn

Why Did Owfice Burn Turn into Lizzie Grubman?

Remember Lizzie Grubman? She was the celebrity publicist who yelled “white trash” at a Hamptons nightclub bouncer before plowing into him and 16 guests with her Mercedes and then driving away.

Yesterday, Owfice Burn and I were driving around Soho when a cab stopped in the middle of the street to drop off passengers thereby trapping us in an intersection. Owfice Burn, concerned that she might get a ticket for this, used her impeccable judgment to decide to ram into the cab. This caused the tourists in the cab to swivel around and glare at us while revealing their tall, cotton candy Texas hair. Owfice Burn then exhibited her true pirate heritage when she began to swear incessantly at the cab driver as she drove away.

Why did Owfice Burn turn into Lizzie Grubman?