Lorenzo Lamas is the Antichrist.

Why Sherb and Jim Jones would have made good friends

1. We both like to wear sunglasses, even at night and even in the jungle.

2. I too have thought about moving down to South America to “get away from it all”.

3. We’re both cult leaders. Okay, so my cult just includes Arlo. Him and any other stranger who has read my blog more than once.

4. We’re both big fans of Flavor-Aid.

5. We’re both just a little misunderstood by mainstream society.

The Sherbtastics: Revised for 2007

Arlo-
"I often fantasize about walking out of my office, driving to the airport, and spontaneously re-locating to the Florida Keys."

Hunter S. Thompson-
"I understand that fear is my friend, but not always. Never turn your back on fear. It should always be in front of you, like a thing that might have to be killed."

Johnny Cash-
"You've got to know your limitations. I don't know what your limitations are. I found out what mine were when I was twelve. I found out that there weren't too many limitations, if I did it my way."

Rev. Jim Jones-
"A man's gotta make at least one bet a day, else he could be walking around lucky and never know it."

Ted Nugent-
"Vegetarians are cool. All I eat are vegetarians - except for the occasional mountain lion steak."

Todd Snider-
"I make up songs and I sing. I really don't think about business. Maybe that's why things are going well. I just let them happen to me."

Johnny Knoxville-
"Once you commit, you've got to go and do it."

Holden Caulfield-
"I'm always saying 'Glad to've met you' to somebody I'm not at all glad I met. If you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though."

#1 at making #2!

I do most of my best thinking in the men’s room. That’s where I came up with these. They really belong in my little camouflaged book, which is simply and aptly entitled “Gonzo Guide to Social Terrorism” however, I haven’t the time to transcribe them. Besides, if I type it out, my co-workers will at least think I’m busy and leave me the fuck alone.

-Exit stall, stomp foot violently. Exclaim, “Boy, I was in there so long my foot fell asleep.” It plays much better if there is an audience in there.

-Upon noticing someone is using a cell phone in the restroom, begin flushing as many toilets as possible. The person on the other end of the conversation should know they are second seat (excuse the pun).

-Enter a vacant stall and start urinating under the divider towards an occupied stall. When they inquire as to what the hell you’re doing, reply with, “My bad.” but keep on peeing in their general direction. Monty Python fans may wish to use, “I pee in your general direction.”

-Wait for the person in the stall to exit. With your hands drenched after washing them (or peeing on them if you’re that sick) flick the liquid of your choice on them as they egress. You’ve got a good chance of getting away on this one as they’re going to want to wash their hands before giving chase. If they do end up following you out the door just yell, to everyone, “That sick bastard didn’t wash his hands!” With wet marks all over their front side they’ll most likely want to hide in shame.

Have fun,
-Sherb

A point to ponder.

Employment: Purgatory or Eternal Damnation?

Sherb Tzu - The Art of Work and War

The only satisfaction I get at work is seeing others suffer when they fuck up and get themselves tarred and feathered by the man. I’m a sick, sadistic, employee, but hey, it gets me through the day. To quote Kevin Dillon’s character, Bunny, from the 1986 smash comedy, Platoon, “I told the Padre the truth, man: I like it here. You get to do what you want. Nobody fucks with you. The only worry you got is dyin’ and if that happens you won’t know about it anyway. So what the fuck, man?”

Of course this isn’t to say that my capitalist detention center is anything like a war zone but there are more similarities than you might think. For instance, war has often been described as 90% waiting around followed by 10% sheer terror (whatever the percentages the gist is the same). Here we can have weeks of nothing to do but sit on our collective asses, only to be bogged down in the most inane crap the following weeks.

In war being a good soldier means following orders and keeping your butt low and shrapnel free. Unfortunately, people like Reverend Ralph here have yet to learn that. He rather enjoys defiantly preaching the word of God over the work phone while printing out unapproved and unedited letters right in front of the boss after she explicitly asks him not to. Like a good platoon sergeant, she is just trying to keep her troops out of the line of fire but occasionally you get the fuck-up Gomer Pyle who just cannot be motivated. Well, we all know what happens to the Pyles in our offices, they end up eating the barrel of that M-14 Rifle loaded with a full magazine of 7.62 full metal jacketed rounds. Proverbially speaking at least.
And like the military there is the occasional fragging of your own men. Be it the cotton candy haired lieutenant carelessly marching his troops into an ambush or the screw-up cherry, both of these individuals put the rest of us at risk. Well, okay, we wouldn’t dare frag anyone in the office. (It would create quite a mess, the police would get involved, all round just not a good scene) But admit it, you have an individual or two in your office who you fantasize about putting their head(s) through a wall? Or maybe pistol whipping them? Perhaps it might be better to just smack them in the head with a trade journal at the next staff meeting. Tell them you are trying to teach them through osmosis. Explain that you must continue to beat them because they have so much to learn. Or maybe a collective pelting with powdered donuts would do. These are the employees who just don’t seem to serve any purpose other than to annoy the rest of us by their very existence, not unlike a festering, puss filled, boil on your ass. If they are not properly taken care of, be it by code red or fragging, they are just going to end up maneuvering the rest of us into the crosshairs of upper management.

Your office mates, like your platoon mates become your closest allies, your buddies in the trenches. You’d place your lives in their hands, or at least trust them to cover for you when you’re late. They’re your source of motivation when times get tough and the boss wants to PT your ass with work until she gets your D.O.R. The harsh reality for most of us, like myself, is that I’ve got nowhere else to go. I’ve got nowhere else to go.

What happens when you win all sorts of citations and medals? You don’t get sent off the front lines. No sir, you get assigned to harder missions. Special Ops. CIA type shit. On the other hand, your fucked up, yellowbelly, newbie office/platton mates get stuck on K.P. or relegated to burning the shitters leaving you to with all the responsibility of your new rank. In fact, they basically get rewarded. For them, it essentially becomes time off from any sort of challenging work or mission. Those of us with the chests full of medals have to stick our necks out once again on the bosses pet project or some other extraordinary assignments. Those chairborne, REMFs (rear echelon mother fuckers) get to sit back and coast toward retirement with the simple stuff and even then, they still manage to fuck it all up.

Man, I’ll tell you, I’m starting to wish I burned my draft card long ago.

Why....

With the Federal Government shut down to remember President Ford, particularly the Post Office being closed, it got me to thinking. If the Post Office makes a first class stamp, do they also have a coach class stamp?