They say "Its on her desk"
Translation: Joanne, director of admissions walks calmly into her office on a blistery winter Monday morning. She stops to wonder if the divorce papers will be served today but puts the thought to the side. Days like these, she has trouble concentrating. A cup of coffee, she thinks, might just make all the difference.
She walks to the faculty lounge where a Hispanic male of ambiguous origin is refilling the donuts mumbling something incoherent. She feels a chill run up her spine - he's always given her the creeps for some reason. Shrugging it off, she knows today will be another tough one. Black coffee, two sugars, as always.
Mary, the admissions co-director walks in and says hello, looking like an abomination of God. Joanne cant help but wonder if it was Jack and Coke this morning or Tequila. She smells like Vodka. Joanne passes her, careful not to strike up a conversation, or else Mary might just go off on another rant about her "genetic disaster of a boyfriend" and how he's in jail again. Then something catches her eye.
It's coming off the printer.... It can't be, can it? Incredulously, she approaches the HP LaserJet 5 with PCL 5/6 and gigabit ethernet ports and stops. How did she know all that about the printer? She can't even figure out how to get the porn her son downloaded off her work laptop. Something is strange about today. There's an electricity in the air. She can feel the hair on her knees, unshaven since last Tuesday, stand up and tingle.
She slowly lifts the paper off the printer as if infested with some kind of apocalyptic disease. She gasps as she falls backwards away from the printer.
It ... It just can't be....
Stunned, it takes her a moment to remember that her alcoholic bitch of an assistant is still in the room.
Joanne: "Oh my goodness, Mary look! We got another application!"
Mary looks dumbfounded. Her worn synapses fire random electrical impulses as she tries to comprehend the statement through the vaporous cloud of tequila that fogs her mind on a daily basis. A rare moment of lucidity occurs and she's able to respond:
Mary: "Really, no way!! What do they want???"
The excitement grows as Joanne is now flipping through the pages furiously and spastically. It reminds Mary of when she caught her autistic thirteen year old son masturbating to a photo of a flower.
Joanne: "OH MY GOD, HE WANTS TO GET AN MBA!!!"
Mary jumps across Joanne's lap, scraping against sandpaper legs only a single woman can know. Mary jumps up and down for joy, scarcely able to maintain her composure. She's definetly pounded back a couple today.
Joanne: "WE'VE BEING WAITING FOR THIS ONE MARY."
Mary: "YES, YES WE HAVE!"
Overly stimulated, slightly buzzed and clearly not fully with it - fairly typical for a Tuesday morning - Mary shouts out her now all to well known response:
Mary: "WE SHOULD MAIL HIM A EUTHANASIA BROCHURE!"
Concerned that Mary may need to be hospitalized for her random bouts of schizophrenic grandeur again, Joanne quickly sets her straight. After all, she had promised the Dean that Mary wouldn't mail those out again, like she did the year before..
Joanne: "WELL NOW MARY, YOU REMEMBER HOW THAT WORKED OUT LAST YEAR DON'T YOU? OUR YIELD WASN'T 0% FOR NOTHING..."
Just at that moment, the janitor who Mary and Joanne had forgotten about locks the door and turns slowly towards them with an evil looking smirk. He smiles and says:
"It's Goatse time."
(If this sounds familiar, I used it about a year ago for something else)
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