A Brief Update
Heigh ho! Your weekend blogger here, serving you 24/2/104. I’ve been a little busy lately. How busy? How about busier than a one-armed paperhanger wearing roller skates in a barrel-rolling contest fending off a swarm of killer bees? That right there is pretty damn busy, my friends, and I’m busier than that!
Actually, I can’t even call myself a weekend blogger because it’s Tuesday already. Generally, even during the most trying times, I try to throw up a post a week, but I just couldn’t do it last week. Stupid work. Stupid responsibilities. Look, I never asked to grow up — maturity was thrust upon me. I’m a victim here. Why couldn’t I have been born rich at least? Then I could use this as an excuse: “I can’t work! I’m a gentleman.”
The only reason why I’m posting anything right now is to let the two or three people who read this drivel know I’m still breathing. You know, put to rest all those “Schprock is dead” rumors. What’s up with that, huh? And then there’s those people with too much time on their hands who have been reading my posts backwards and uncovering supposedly subliminal messages claiming I’m the antichrist, quoting stuff like “follow me my minions, the gaping maw of hell yawns before you,” and “my bologna has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R…”
Well, in other news, I’ve put in for my remaining vacation days for the year. Right after Thanksgiving I plan to park my butt somewhere warm and cushiony and stay there until December 6th. Then, on December 7th, a date which will live in infamy, I’ll return to work a whole man. Actually, I have an idea for a (hopefully) funny short story, and that might be my main goal during vacation. Oh, and then there’s all that stuff my wife wants me to take care of around the house. Can’t forget that. Maybe I’ll fake gout. Nothing like a good bout of gout. Unless I’m blue with the flu, or suffering the pain of a sprain. I’ll think of something to shirk work.
Okay, that’s it — I’m spent. Move along people, nothing more to see here.
Actually, I can’t even call myself a weekend blogger because it’s Tuesday already. Generally, even during the most trying times, I try to throw up a post a week, but I just couldn’t do it last week. Stupid work. Stupid responsibilities. Look, I never asked to grow up — maturity was thrust upon me. I’m a victim here. Why couldn’t I have been born rich at least? Then I could use this as an excuse: “I can’t work! I’m a gentleman.”
The only reason why I’m posting anything right now is to let the two or three people who read this drivel know I’m still breathing. You know, put to rest all those “Schprock is dead” rumors. What’s up with that, huh? And then there’s those people with too much time on their hands who have been reading my posts backwards and uncovering supposedly subliminal messages claiming I’m the antichrist, quoting stuff like “follow me my minions, the gaping maw of hell yawns before you,” and “my bologna has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R…”
Well, in other news, I’ve put in for my remaining vacation days for the year. Right after Thanksgiving I plan to park my butt somewhere warm and cushiony and stay there until December 6th. Then, on December 7th, a date which will live in infamy, I’ll return to work a whole man. Actually, I have an idea for a (hopefully) funny short story, and that might be my main goal during vacation. Oh, and then there’s all that stuff my wife wants me to take care of around the house. Can’t forget that. Maybe I’ll fake gout. Nothing like a good bout of gout. Unless I’m blue with the flu, or suffering the pain of a sprain. I’ll think of something to shirk work.
Okay, that’s it — I’m spent. Move along people, nothing more to see here.
posted by mr. schprock at 3:02 PM
9 Comments:
I did one of these posts recently, read yours, and now have to scoot. How's that for being rushed? I feel your busy pain. =)
He's alive! We just figured you handed off a telemarketer to John, he wigged out, and stuffed your body in the ductwork. Good to know it's just maturity taking over instead.
Greetings, Herr Schprock;
I was indulging my webcomic habit and I found this strip at Greystone Inn:
http://www.greystoneinn.net/d/20040511.html
I thought you might appreciate the sentiment.
(Oh, yeah, Hi! Longtime lurker here, finally posting a comment.)
Dreadmouse, that strip is PERFECT! It's circulating the office now. Thanks!
"We just figured you handed off a telemarketer to John, he wigged out, and stuffed your body in the ductwork."
Great, Trina — give him ideas why don'tcha?
"I feel your busy pain."
God bless you, Beth, God bless you.
So, the rumors of your demise were greatly exaggerated. Thanks for the heartbeat. Awesome that you have an idea for a short story!
Heigh ho! Your weekend blogger here...
I don't know why, but after reading that very first sentence, I ended up reading the rest as if Kermit the Frog was saying it.
Odd.
What's with all this maturity crap? Why can't I be 17 again hitting the clubs, picking up chicks and getting 4 hours of sleep a night? Ahh the good old days. I hope my wife doesn't read that!
Why is it that when we're finally old enough to appreciate some free time, the universe sucks it all away?
Just dropping in to say hello. I rented the "Search for Schprock' and listened to my old Beatles LP's to find clues. All I heard was 'cranberry sauce' so I took it to mean you are well, but busy. Busy gets old sometimes, but it beats being not busy anyday of the 80 hour week.
-Phil
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