Monday, November 15, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Lo, the chicken-f***ing does not end in Kingdom Erris. One fine morning, on the Day of Tyr, Squire Bugiganga got to the castle bright and early, before anyone else got there, so that he may depart early. He awakened his Windows XP Pro unicorn, and the first thing that appeared was a scroll from ShaqsDad the Destroyer, address to all the squires, requesting some one to execute a task:
“I need someone to travel to a Rook of Greece and find the magic number that will enable us to make more rooks across the land. I need this by morning, so get this done as soon as possible.”
Despite his disdain for the Destroyer, your noble narrator decided to take the charge. He journeyed yonder to the Rook of Greece. I got lost along the way, but made it there safely. There was nary a house nor hut, nor stable for many miles. There apparently was nary a snow plow either. There was a wall of metal thistles surrounding the rook. There was a gate, but the gate was locked. This was not a good idea. You ever-dedicated adventurer looked at the e-mail again, and read it fully:
“I need someone to travel to a Rook of Greece and find the magic number that will enable us to make more rooks across the land. I need this by morning, so get this done as soon as possible…[further down the e-mail]
(Oh, you might have to vault a wall of metal thistles to find the magic number :)).”
Squire Bugiganga was not content with the entire e-mail. He was already at the Rook of Greece, though, and just wanted to get it done. He figured out a way to climb the wall. As he climbed, he thought what everyone would in his situation: “If someone drives past here, my black a** is going to jail…I hate you ShaqsDad.”
At the top of the wall, he saw the land inside, and saw nothing but ice and snow. He thought, “I’m going to jump down and slip and not be found for a week. I should have just stayed in the Castle…man, I really hate you, ShaqsDad…”
Miraculously, your nimble narrator landed fine, got the elusive magic number, and got back to Kingdom Erris safely…then, on his way to the castle gate while walking from his chariot, he twisted his ankle in the lot of chariots, spraining it for a fortnight.
The moral of this story is…there is none. I f***ing hate you, ShaqsDad.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Your ever-eager narrator has been working under the roof of this kingdom for nearly two years now. Many moons have passed, and much inanity has been witnessed. The crown gem of the inanity is not the antics of less-than-honest nobles or being told that the kingdom has been granted great amounts of gold, and to celebrate, they’d use the gold that could have been used to give its subject raises on mountains of doughnuts and oceans of coffee. The crown jewel of the Kingdom’s office idiocy the chosen nomenclature of the products we sell.
We’re dropping the faux-medieval mixed with Clockwork Orange speak for a moment so that you can appreciate the full effect of this. I still may refer to myself in third person, but that is only because I’m an arrogant bastard. One product we make is radios. They are good quality radios by which many customers swear. They work under pressure, after getting wet, after numerous impact shocks, et al. A radio of such good quality should have a name that commands respect; something that commands respect, that illustrates how rugged yet compact it is. The company decided to go with the term “Manpack”…ok, a homoerotic allusion would not be the way I would go, what with all the military and police customers we have, but maybe they won’t notice. What about the smaller radios, the ones that people can carry with them? Oh, we’ll just call it a “hand-held” radio. That’s fine. But what if I am in a vehicle? I should be able to lock my hand-held into a docking station to charge it and amplify its power. When I’m ready to go, I can just pull it out and be on my way…until we have an official presentation to a customer regarding the docking station and hand-held radio, where we call the function of taking the hand-held out of the docking station “Jerk-and-Run technology”. So I’m really going to jerk and run with my handheld, which is next to my manpack.
Back to the Manpack, the latest one had a naming issue (besides the “Manpack” thing); a competing company is in the process of trademarking the term, HCDR, which is another nickname for one of our manpacks (oh yes, there are more than one). Our marketing team has come up with a new name: MBNR, or as someone skillfully pointed out, the “M-Boner”…The M-Boner! Why don’t we go full hog? Let’s make an antenna called the Muilti-Environment Amplified Transmission Pole, or “MEAT Pole” for short? We can shove the MEAT Pole right into one of the rear inputs of the Manpack, thereby making it a super M-Boner? It will be three times as powerful as the jerk-and-run hand-held.
I am quite certain that one of two things is happening: either the marketing director is getting naming suggestions from his/her 13-year old son, or we have hired “What-She-Said Industries” to do all the naming for us. Regardless, it is getting more and more apparent that the Emperor is not wearing clothes…KFTC.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Many moons passed since your intrepid, ingratiated narrator has placed an entry in the Chronicles. Many things have changed:
- Inadequous the Compensator shall no longer be called such. He is now Miguel the High Pawn. His name change is due to the fact that Squire Bugiganga found out that there were others who turned his disfavour toward your poor narrator. They have since reconciled, and the ground beneath each others feet no longer boils with enmity.
- Brian the Bald will now be called Boris the Brazen. He thought it would sound cooler.
- Yorick the Short has temporarily moved to another kingdom for a few fortnights. He took up an opportunity that would keep him away from ShaqsDad the Destroyer, who is exactly the same, if not worse.
The most important development is one of a phrase: Keep F***ing That Chicken. The wise fake soothsayer, Jon Stewart brought attention to this phrase. The squires of the Harris cadre have adopted it to describe some of the many duties that occur in the kingdom. Examples:
- Near the end of the Kingdom’s fiscal year, all citizens of the
were told they will not get salary increases for the year. A few months later, a giant banner was hung over every entrance (about 20) congratulating the citizens for their hard work to make a successful first quarter, and in appreciation, there would be free coffee and a MOUNTAIN of doughnuts available all day…but no raise. The CEO got a new car, also. The citizens were eating their raise, thereby f***ing that chicken. Harris Kingdom
- One day, ShaqsDad called Boris the Brazen for a meeting regarding one of his projects. Boris had made an outline and a timeline of when tasks should be done: First lay foundation, then raise the walls, then place the roof, then populate with flying monkeys and unicorns. ShaqsDad, who was asleep throughout part of the meeting, looked at Boris’s plan and disagreed with it. He told him to first lay foundation, then raise the walls, then place the roof, then populate with flying monkeys and unicorns…Boris just f***ed that chicken.
- For the same project, ShaqsDad wanted a map of the castle Boris the Brazen was building. He tasked Squire Bugiganga with the assignment. When your non-noble narrator went to Boris, regarding making a map, Boris said that he would not be ready for him for at least 8 fortnights. A simple thing, yes?...If you answer affirmatively, then you have not read any of the previous blogs. The following week, ShaqsDad went to Squire Bugiganga and told him to make a map of Boris’s castle. He gave him barely decipherable parchments that had pictures drawn in crayon. When your oh-so skeptical squire told him that he had already talked to Boris and that he shouldn’t start the map until March (according to the aforementioned timeline), ShaqsDad replied, “Yeah, I told him that’s crap. This need to get done now!” So Squire Bugiganga is now tasked with mapping a castle that does not exist, and Boris must provide addresses to rooms that are not there. Both squires just f***ed that chicken.
Look around you. Somewhere in your kingdom, there is a count or a duke or a lord who is doling out ridiculous tasks. Somewhere, someone is doing something completely devoid of logic at the behest of a noble. Somewhere in your kingdom, someone is f***ing that chicken. If you can’t tell who it is, then look down in your lap. It is probably you. Your Intrepid Inspetor Apprentice must go now. Those chickens are not going to f*** themselves.