And another thing...

Weird Office Guy

Every office has one and the Undisclosed Customer Service Center™ is no different.

I wish I had a picture of this guy, but I will try to describe him as best I can.

He is tall, overweight, receding hairline with curly hair. He has coke bottle glasses and wears golf shirts with track pants and a belt. I know this because the belt is clearly 8 feet long because (since there are no loops in track pants) the tail of it hangs down between his legs like a dick. As I mentioned he is overweight and walks like he is pregnant, only somehow he does this on his tip toes. Getting the picture yet?

Here comes the gross part. Like every lame-ass company the Undisclosed Customer Service Center™ has employee of the month celebrations (you guessed it) every month. With cake! Me and the rest of the smokers sit outside and watch this spectacle through the glass doors that separate the clean from the unclean.

On one such occasion I witnessed WOG, oblivious of what was going on around him walk past the Big Giant Head, who was expounding the virtues of our recent nominees and parked himself in front of the two enormous cakes that sat waiting to be enjoyed by the masses.

He stood there, stomach out, leather dick swinging in the breeze, seeming to contemplate the confection. Then he did something that made my blood run cold.

Oblivious to the ceremony going on around him, he reached out and ran two chubby little fingers the full length of the first cake, leaving a noticeable tack of bare cake, raised his fingers triumphantly he jammed the icing into is fat little pie hole.

JESUS H CHRIST!

What the hell is this social retard doing? Why isn't the Big Giant Head seeing this? I waited for him to make a fast get away. After all he had just grossed out most of the people in the room, or would once they realized what he had done. He will have to get out fast before he is detected by someone other than me, who can do nothing from behind the glass. I wait for him to bolt but he doesn't. Instead, he sucks his fingers clean and heads for the second cake.

As I try and keep my breakfast down he repeats his assault on the second cake, and nonchalantly waddles away. But he doesn't leave. He sits back and waits for the idiots to cut the cake and then walks away with three pieces.

The moral of this story is: Never eat from the community cake. You really don't know where that cake has been or what indignities have befallen it.

I go green as I realize how many times I have jammed that cake into my own pie hole. And I don't even want to think about what he does on natcho day.