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Friday, 28 May
Idle Hands

Hello hello from No-Work-Land! I took a couple days off work because (a) a five-day vacation on Memorial Day weekend sounded just luscious, and (b) the IT staff is busy all weekend doing something incomprehensible like defrumulating the servers, or upgrading our bangsisters, or something. Anyway, the upshot is that all of our computer services are totally and completely hosed until Tuesday. I did have the option of going to work anyway--with NO COMPUTERS AT ALL, meaning no netsurfing or solitaire or even actual work--which would have meant doing really entertaining things like updating manual registration forms, or proofreading SOPs, or gloomily beating off in the restroom. No thanks. All of those things are exactly as boring as they sound, except for the beating off in the bathroom, which is really depressing as well as being boring. So I just bailed and took some time off.

I've already entertained myself by calling the bosslady and torturing her about what a good time I've been having. "What are you doing, Bosslady?" "I'm training Caftan Guy on forms development. What are you doing?" "I'm drinking a cognac and watching a baseball game. HA!" I could hear the Bosslady slump. "You bastard," she breathed. "I'm stuck here with Caftan Guy, and you're lounging around being a louche. I'm miserable." I felt badly for her. "Why?" I said. "He loves learning forms development! He's nothing like you--he's interested in learning his job! I can't stand it. He's ecstatic." She sounded like a broken woman, and I took pity. "Go tell him to go jerk off in the bathroom. It's incredibly depressing. He'll come back looking like a whipped dog."

I hung up and helped myself to more cognac, and then the wife and I watched the execrable movie The Transporter, which was so dire and wretched that I was immediately moved to drink more cognac. In a funk after this cinematic fumblefuck, I was moved to call work again and check in.

"Bosslady!" I cried, after she picked up; "How goes it with Caftan Guy?" She sounded calmer and a little smug. "It's fine. He came back from the restroom all red-faced and gloomy. He kept rubbing his hands on his green corduroys." I shuddered. When Caftan Guy eschewed his caftan, he usually chose sartorially suspect garments made of things like felt or crinoline. Once he came to work wearing only a thick coat of axle grease.

Bosslady continued. "The hell of it is, he's still trying to better himself. He clearly failed at the masturbation attempt--he looks like he saw Liza Minnelli in there--but he's still pestering me about manual registrations. I don't think I can take this any more."

I pityingly gave her the final solution. "Look. Go to a video store and rent The Transporter. I guarantee it will make him want to die. Nobody can function clearly after seeing that piece of horseshit."

"But you saw it!" she cried. "How do I know it'll work?"

I paused. "Listen. Compared to Caftan Guy, I'm Zeus. And look at what a paltry statement that is. Just show him the movie. I'm going to sit here and eat pickled beans and drink scotch. Actually, Jesus, I'm on vacation. Leave me the fuck alone, all right?"

I hated to be so abrupt, but come on--I'm on my own time.

Today's morning headlines concentrated on a man found dead, lying in his own filth, wearing a dashiki. He was only inches away from a television locked in an endless loop playing The Transporter. The victim had, as the stations reported, no eyes left after they had blasted outward onto the wall. The only comment from the recovering officer was, "It's really a shame . . . to die like that watching such crap. Jesus Christ, look at this boy's clothes. Horrible."

"But not as horrible as this goddamn movie. I paid nine bucks to see that shit. They played a sax solo, for God's sake, during that underwater scene. Christ, what a pile." The officer brushed away tears. "Look at this boy," he whispered again. "Dumb fucker. I'm surprised he isn't wearing a caftan."


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Comments

I had a job I hated so much that I used to take refuge in the bathroom and read books on the can just for a break. I'm sure the rest of the office thought I had chronic explosive diarhhea. Or a severe case of onanism.

Comment number: 003305   Posted by: girlygirl on May 28, 2004 09:22 AM from IP: 68.166.69.164

So that's how you spell it... I always figured it was spelled lush.

Comment number: 003306   Posted by: alexs on May 28, 2004 09:31 AM from IP: 206.28.72.1

It, ah, is.

louche - Of questionable taste or morality; decadent.

Comment number: 003307   Posted by: Marcus on May 28, 2004 09:43 AM from IP: 65.196.182.115

stfu, skot. u think ur so smart but you are dumb. I may jerk off but u r off, jerk, heh. stfu

Comment number: 003308   Posted by: CaftanGuy on May 28, 2004 11:07 AM from IP: 66.160.108.162

They are making a sequel to The Transporter. It's sure to be wretched.

Comment number: 003309   Posted by: John on May 28, 2004 12:58 PM from IP: 63.242.18.240

Nuts. Screwed up "louche," huh? That was kind of dumb.

Fortunately, I'm on vacation, so I don't have to care. Whoopee!

Comment number: 003310   Posted by: Skot on May 28, 2004 01:24 PM from IP: 216.162.193.95

The girl from The Transporter was pretty. That sums up all the good points of the movie.

It could have been worse, but only if Steven Seagal was in it, and even then, not that much worse.

Comment number: 003311   Posted by: Mike on May 28, 2004 03:25 PM from IP: 64.27.149.146

You so crack me up, louche or not.

Comment number: 003315   Posted by: Tigger on May 28, 2004 06:19 PM from IP: 69.22.40.190

It could have been worse, but only if Steven Seagal was in it, and even then, not that much worse.

That may be the most crushing review ever written.

Comment number: 003318   Posted by: Snarky on May 29, 2004 07:56 AM from IP: 138.88.106.80

hey, i liked the transporter!
...
ok i just had a crush on that Tirksih guy...

Comment number: 003327   Posted by: livie on May 30, 2004 08:47 PM from IP: 63.231.189.186

Until you've seen Gigli, you just don't know how bad movies can be. You really should watch it. But first, remove all sharp objects from the vicinity.

Sample dialogue, said by the horniest retard ever put in a movie, while staring at some scantily clad women: "They make my penis sneeze."

SEE IT!

Comment number: 003329   Posted by: C. on May 30, 2004 10:54 PM from IP: 205.240.228.30

The Transporter. Yeah. That was spectacular. I think they gurned out that script by locking a herd of baboons in a room with a Scrabble board. "He was a bastard, but he was still my father." GLARGLE!

Comment number: 003337   Posted by: Robin on June 2, 2004 10:22 PM from IP: 216.239.69.75

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