Thursday, August 14, 2008

Superdaddyman Takes on the Pink Mafia - Volume 15

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It was a Wednesday like any other Wednesday in the haven of Megalopolis, but with a bit of a caveat to the usual night time adventures of everyone’s favorite super villain turned super hero. The wicked halls of the fiendish Pink Mafia are filled with a rank odor of evil which needs to be vanquished, and as always this would be a job that only the Caped Pervader could handle, if only for the reason that he has the “don’t give a crap” attitude necessary to take on the foulest of evil, and in some cases {like this one} the foulest of odors. As they would say in the smart people’s classes of Super Hero 101, it is time for the Superdaddyman to put on the big girls panties and deal with the refrigerator in the break room.

As easy of a task, this may appear to mere mortals, there is a lot of politics involved in such a massive feat. With two nations warring it out in a never ending battle for domination of the Pink Mafia Headquarters {PMHQ} these days being a politician, a lingual specialist, a councilor, a babysitter, a chemical engineer, and an ambassador of good will, is second nature to everyone involved in the organization. Certain little “cleaning tasks” are completely foreign to the Tempspanican Empire, and it was never really a priority in the minds of the usual evil that had lurked in the halls of the Pink Mafia for many years previous either. To simply attempt to clean out something as simple as a refrigerator in an environment such as this one would be considered foolhardy by many, but Superdaddyman’s middle name would be foolhardy {Super Foolhardy Daddyman .. Check the Birth Certificate} anyway.

The first problem in such a menial task is the attempts to explain in the language of No Hablo {Yo Foodo Es Gono Meracone}, that all food in the refrigerator will be thrown away at midnight. Originally the idea of simply writing it on the refrigerator in Megalopian and Tempspanican was a total failure as neither can actually read any language. The second problem came when the Superdaddyman took it into his own hands to try and figure out what was old food and new food. Most of the Tempspanican diet {including that concoction of milk and orange juice that they knock down everyday} looks spoiled from the moment it is made. The odor actually tends to get better when it sits around for a few weeks, and regardless of whether they eat it or not, they will leave all the wrappers in the refrigerator {even the microwave wrappers} when they are done eating it. The sad part is that, that is probably the ONLY thing they have learned from the Megalopolans since they came to the Pink Mafia, and most likely the only thing.

The clock finally struck midnight and the Superdaddyman {armed with nitrile gloves, a dust mask, and a very large trash bag} opened the door to the refrigerator in the break room. Once the flies cleared, and all the mold spores spread themselves throughout the vacant room he started digging in to the debris. Most of the debris came out reluctantly as it clung to the shelves for all it was worth. It was a good haul this week, roughly sixty five pounds of leftover everything, a few dozen dishes that several Pink Mafia members will have to answer to their wives for losing, several bags of what once was edible McDonald’s food, a baseball glove {who knows}, most of the stock of Little Debbie snacks from the local Star Market, and the entire rind from what used to be a watermelon filled the trash bag. Superdaddyman stood stock still, aside from holding up his fingers in a gesture of a countdown, in front of the refrigerator, for what was going to happen next.

The influx of Tempspanicans and Megalopolans was thunderous, and as usual late. Being berated in Tempspanican and Goober as he is every week, as all of the people who were personally warned by their supervisor, like the week before are furious over having their dinners thrown away. Nobody claimed the baseball glove, so that should be in a nasty e-mail sometime later today the Superdaddyman assumes. This is one of those times when the Superdaddyman is forced to speak in the universal language so that everyone involved can understand it, “Go fuck yourselves,” and backed up by the fact that the Superdaddyman is larger than most of them and holding a spray bottle of biocide, most of them go back to the line to complain amongst themselves. It would be a lot easier if the Human Resources director would let him use the “rolled up newspaper” approach to training them that he has begged for authorization on for several years. She has mentioned crap about “human rights” and State Auditors, but still hasn’t made any arguments to the negative that register, oh well.

Our hero is then found scrubbing the slimey things off the walls, while the steady stream of stragglers comes in to ask questions. As Superdaddyman was busy and didn’t have time to translate, he assumed that they all pretty much surmounted to “where did my lunch go?” and continued on with the harrowing task of eliminating Legionnaires disease, Anthrax, and lord knows what else from inside the refrigerator. In the end he managed to get the inside of it down to three colors {fruit punch doesn’t come out of shit, it even stains marble!} which is a major improvement. The worst of it all is that he will be repeating this whole ordeal in a week. As sad as it sounds there is a certain pleasure in it all. Educating people is the duty of everyone and what kind of a Superhero would the Superdaddyman be without taking the lead on many of these menial tasks in life? Of course there is a point in life when it becomes pointless to even try, but who ever accused the Caped Pervader of learning his own lessons? ;8o)

Other Crap This Weirdo Publishes... Mental Notes & Random Musings {Daily Blog} The Crow's Nest {The Homepage of Jeremy Crow} Jeremy Crow on Multiply {For Community Types} Blogaholics Anonymous {E-Mail Blogging Group} Itching For Coffee {Community Blog}

Nothing that was printed here was intended to offend anyone, and if it did, screw ya, you begged for it. If you believe that there are some measures that can be taken to change me, then please feel free to pray for me, and while you are at it yourself, because you read this far, and if you hated every minute of it, then you are an idiot, not me, or the other people who like what I have to say! .. Jeremy

All writings Copyright © 2008

1 comment:

  1. I have similar memories of the breakroom in the main office being a disaster, especially the refrigerator. I rarely ate there as I couldn't stand the fake conversations going on-- in fact I only ate takeout there and then only if my singularly sane boss invited me to in order to give me lessons in how to work a room full of assholes.

    I feel for you.

    I remember the notices plastered on the fridge about when all of the food would be thrown out as well as one over the sink pointing out that neither your mother nor Yolanda worked there.