Tuesday, May 29, 2007
a musical note with the time value of 1/64 of a whole note : sixty-fourth note.
Anchored Cubicle uses "hemidemisemiquaver" in a sentence:
I'm pretty sure that Tom Petty has no idea which, if any, of his songs contain a hemidemisemiquaver, and I'm also pretty sure he doesn't care because ass-kickers don't waste time categorizing ROCK AND ROLL!!!!!!!!
Friday, May 25, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
This Anchored Cubicle Daily Awesome Award goes to Yuri Lane.
Lane wins for obvious reasons.
No, this is not a physical award
(unless someone wants to design one - you probably won't be compensated).
No, you cannot apply for it.
Also, it probably won't be awarded daily.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Why is it that nearly 75% of the females of my high school senior class have taken the last four years to get totally wasted while also giving birth to one, two, and sometimes more, innocent
little children that they allow their mothers to raise while they go get drunk every night
and hook up with skeezy men?
Seriously, is THIS who is raising our next generation? In fact, it is.
We are screwed, my friends. SCREWED.
A Haiku by Andrew
What is that I hear?
A distant voice calls for me
“Less work, more pizza”
The Drive to Work
A Haiku by Ashleigh
Coffee burns my tongue;
The day starts like a bad knee
A Haiku by Andrew
Cage doors closing quick
Mute strangers look at the floor
Damn this is awkward
Computer Nerds Make Me Feel Mediocre and Uncultured
A Haiku, by Ashleigh
Java is not a
Real and honest language.
Stop claiming such things.
A Haiku by Andrew
How to avoid work:
Chagrined look, perfect disguise
Read Harry Potter
How I Feel About the Time Following a Snack Break
A Haiku by Ashleigh
At 3 pm I
Will eat two awesome Pop Tarts.
3:05 – Uhhgg.
(grŏk) tr.v. grok·ked, grok·king, groks Slang
To understand profoundly through intuition or empathy.
Anchored Cubicle uses "grok" in a sentence:
Though Ralph was extremely high, we was still able to grok what Teddy was saying: the aluminum foil was really shiny and hilarious.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
You refuse to respect the Cart Corral.
I was trying to think of a more difficult, more intelligent, if you will, way to say this, but I can’t. If you aren't able to return your free and provided shopping cart to its designated area, we can't run with the same crowd.
Did the bush in the middle of the parking lot provide you with a cart? Alright, then don’t put it back there. The height of laziness exists in the lack of an ability to walk ten feet and return a shopping cart to its clearly marked home. The signs do not read “Please Don’t Return Your Cart. Our Employees Will Take Time Out of Their Real Jobs to Clean Up After You Lethargic, Self-Obsessed Shoppers Who Have Nothing Better to Do Than Ignore Easy to Follow Rules.”
This is what you're teaching your kids: Their energy is far more important than giving respect to other people’s property, and it’s totally fine to unashamedly ignore a business’s attempt at keeping its’ property maintained and easily accessible. Also, it’s no problem if you want to leave a cart in a parking spot, it’s not like law-abiding citizens use those for anything. Ever.
Monday, May 21, 2007
\Soz"zle\, n. 1. One who spills water or other liquids carelessly; specifically, a sluttish woman.
Anchored Cubicle Uses "sozzle" in a sentence:
Mildred always thought Malifescent was a sozzle, for she always spilled her martini everywhere. . .and because she slept with Mildred's husband. What a bitch.
Apparently Chicago has the highest gas prices nationally. You know what that means? We're #1! Yes!!! Take that losers!! Other suckers around the U.S. are paying only $3.18 a gallon, while Chicago gets to pay $3.59 a gallon. We obviously love our cars way more than any other state because we're ready and willing to shell it out to Shell and shit dough at Citgo. And we need the gas, especially for our Hummers and SUVs. How else are we going to traverse the deadly and menacing terrain of the Midwest? We can't. So let's celebrate, Chicago! Let's drive around needlessly and show our commitment to the cause; the cause of not caring that we're so dependent on gas that we're still eager to pay out the ass for it! YES!!!!!!
Friday, May 18, 2007
I will most likely not be your friend if you wear those stupid ass bug eye sunglasses. No, I'm sorry, you're not Paris Hilton, and you're not cool. Paris Hilton isn't even cool. If wearing stupid sunglasses that cover half your face and donning a hideous cowboy hat makes you cool, then by all means, go ahead. I'll just be the guy laughing at you and giving you the finger as you strut with your entourage down. . .whatever street you strut down. I guess the one with all the exclusive stores where "hot" girls shop. Awesome, well, enjoy trying to look like the Empire-anointed Princess of Over-Priced Accessories. Hey you know what would make you even cooler? Getting a DUI, then violating parole and getting sentenced to 45 days in prison. Dude, you'd be a such a BAMF!! STOP IT.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Papa Matthew’s Cheesy Tuscany
1 box (16 ounces) of Penne Rigate, or any kind of pasta. (Really it doesn’t matter, it’s all pretty much the same so who cares. It’s all just starches and carbs.)
2 jars of some cheap pasta sauce, preferably store brand, but whatever’s the on the bottom shelf. Make sure the ingredients on the back have the words “artificial flavors” and lots of words that end in “mate,” “bate,” and “trate.” That’s how you know it’ll stay fresh!
4 pound block of cheddar cheese, the most expensive cheese you can find. You can never pay too much when buying good cheddar. *NOTE* No parmesan or mozzarella is needed for this recipe.
Boil a huge a pot of water and dump in the pasta. Don’t follow the directions on the box. Normally it will say something like “don’t overcook” or “7-8 minutes or until it’s al dente.” Whatever that means. Pay not attention to that. Cook it for a good 15-20 minutes. If it’s still firm, it’s not done yet.
When the pasta is good and soggy, drain it, rinse it (make sure you rinse it!), and then throw it back in the pot. Open up both jars of sauce and dump them in the pot with the pasta. Heat it up until it’s nice and hot.
And now for the most important part: the CHEDDAR. Serve the pasta on plate while it’s still hot. Either grate the cheese over the pasta or have it grated in a bowl beforehand, it’s your preference. Grate a good quarter pound of cheese on the pasta. When it’s melted, you’re ready to chow down! It's so good, it makes me want to run out and buy another pinkie ring! The cheese is what makes this pasta as good, and as popular, as it is. If you didn't have the cheddar, you'd just be left with that boring pasta aftertaste. Mama mia!
And as they say in the mother country of Italy, Bon Appetit!
(This is an old Italian family recipe passed down from generation to generation, dating back to at least 1993)
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Fame?Maybe next time.
The ability to spit in someone's face without any consequences?
This is what my current job has driven me - a usually calm, passive, caring person - to desire. I don't want to hit them, cut them, or do anything else that will cause physical harm. No, I want to spit in their face and see a look of utter surprise, shock, and fear - all coated in my saliva.
And then I'll scream "Suck It!" and run away.
A boy can dream, can't he?
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
This is our first edition of Haicube, a collection of office-based Haiku. Brew a cup of green tea, pick yourself a lotus flower, and read some boredom-inspired poetry.
Work (A Haiku)
A Haiku by Ashleigh
Desk - You are too much
(not quite enough) like my Bed.
This irritates me.
A Haiku by Andrew
Ramu worked 40
I have the proof on my screen
I really don't care
A Haiku by Ashleigh
Six pages marked with
Forehead smacks my palm.
Taking a message
a Haiku by Andrew
I took a message
"I'll let them know very soon."
Post-It in the trash.
The Metro: Farragut West
A Haiku by Ashleigh
The seats smell like pee.
The man to my left proclaims;
a Haiku by Andrew
Stack of papers sit
Searching for 3-Ringed Home
Google Chat instead
Monday, May 14, 2007
(Click on the subject of each ad to be taken to the page itself)
Woo hoo!! Nothing says "bargain" like a few hours of back-breaking yard work. Thanks for nothing.
For those of you who have never accomplished anything in life: someone else's accomplishments. The ad even boasts that you can use these trophies to "impress your friends." My friends might be a little concerned if I was 1st Place Wisconsin Overall Champion in Womens Waterskiing. Sad. Very, very sad.
A free structure. Well, that sounds like a good deal. Until you get there are realize you have to move a gazebo. Without damaging the person's yard. Their SMALL yard. Oh and make sure you do it quickly. They don't want you taking all day moving this 18 foot by 12 foot gazebo.
Now there's something I've always wanted; a used mattress. Sanitary, classy, safe. Now you can rest easy knowing this is a safe piece of furniture because someone else has already sweated and pissed all over it. And when they're putting it by the curb, you know it's gotta be good!
Strategic A real word, but overused to the point where it sounds like hyperbole. Just because something has no short-term, immediate value doesn't mean it's strategic.
Friday, May 11, 2007
I love The Perry Bible Fellowship. The comic. Not the church.
If you've never seen or heard of PBF, you've been missing out. But luckily Nicholas Gurewitch posts all his amazing comics on www.pbfcomics.com for all to enjoy. Please check them out. If you got Gary Larson's The Farside, you'll get PBF.
This morning, they started talking about IKEA's latest efforts to reward those who make environmentally-conscious lifestyle decisions - namely, driving a hybrid vehicle. IKEA now has reserved parking spaces at the front of their lots for hybrid vehicles. How many reserved spots? Two. The Kane show was not all about this and find it rude and obnoxious. One of the members of the show went so far as to say she hates being victimized and "forced to make certain decisions."
For starters, you have a SERIOUS problem if IKEA'S decision to reserve a few parking spaces for hybrid vehicles "forces" you into buying a hybrid vehicle. Does this person go to IKEA every day or perhaps, several times a day, thus making the need for a parking space at the front of the lot necessary? Or is this person so busy that they do not have time to walk an extra fifty feet to purchase a crappy bookshelf held together by wooden pegs?
Its not like IKEA sells the antidote to some type of poisonous snake venom, making the fact that only certain people can park by the entrance pivotal. They sell crappy furniture and weird home decor, people!
They even went as far to ridicule this decision based on their perception that anyone who drives a hybrid vehicle would not be able to even fit anything they purchase at IKEA in their hybrid vehicle. This same argument could be made for handicapped spaces - anyone who is handicapped certainly won't be able to carry an IKEA futon out to their car, so why should they get a reserved spot? Does the existence of handicapped spaces also victimize you and "force" you to make certain decisions so that you too can take advantage of a handicapped parking space? Is the world just so unfair that you can't get by in every day life without a permanent, debilitating physical ailment?
This asinine conversation continued for another 10 minutes or so, where they continued to gripe and moan about being victims and how much they love their SUV's and might have to give them up now that they can't get rock star parking at IKEA. In case you forgot from the first paragraph, they're reserving two spots. Count 'em: 1 - 2 ...oh, all done. Just two.
Which just makes me wonder...
I've been to IKEA many times and there are always thousands of people there and I've never been able to park less than a half-mile away from the entrance. Do those who work at the Kane Show really get such wonderful parking spots at IKEA that this decision actually affects them?
Kane Show, if you are really turned off by IKEA's new environmental efforts, then just take it as a sign to save up your money and shop somewhere you can get high-quality furniture AND a great parking spot. You'll be much happier in the end.
|capable of being reached or attained; "a very getatable man"; "both oil and coal are there but not in getatable locations" [syn: come-at-able]|
Anchored Cubicle Uses "getatable" in a sentence:
"The bad father left his Jameson in a getatable spot, and his infant daughter polished off the bottle."
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Recently, a billboard for a Chicago-based law firm displayed a pro-divorce message that read "Life's Short. Get a Divorce." People were so upset by the message, not just the scantily clad woman and man on the sign, that a city alderman found a loophole to have the sign taken down.
It's disturbing that there are people in this world that actually have no souls. Seriously. If you want to generate more income for your company and your wallet by intentionally targeting people's marriages, you have no soul. After that sign was taken down, one of the lawyers said that they felt "violated." Really? What your sign implies, Corri Fetman and Kelly Garland, is that life is too short to believe in such concepts as love, commitment, faithfulness, friendship, and pretty much everything that sums up a good marriage. You're juxtaposing the phrase "life's short," a phrase that usually precedes a carefree activity like "skip class" or "eat another brownie," with marriage, a HUGE commitment where people make vows that should be upheld for life. You're manipulative and I find your cry for sympathy contemptible and pathetic. You feel violated? Well, forgive me if I don't really give a shit.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Monday, May 7, 2007
I will most likely not be your friend if you pop your collar. If you wear a polo shirt, and you fold your collar upward so that it lies flat against your neck, you are instantly transformed into a stain. There are two types of people that pop their collars: pretentious snobs, and macho juicers who try and hump unsuspecting girls in clubs. For the most part, they’re not mutually exclusive. I don’t know who decided that this was a fashion statement. More like fashion fragment. Holla. A grammar joke. I’m awesome. And I even hate the phrase “pop your collar.” It implies that it’s a hip, quick, cool movement. It’s not. STOP IT.
One day, while sitting in my office expertly switching between some sort of spreadsheet and 3 Googlechat conversations, I made a very rash and immediate decision to try every Pop Tart flavor, thereby determining the very best one.
Thus far, here are the flavors I’ve tried, and their rating (out of 5 stars, mind you). This will now be referred to as “The List” *.
* Please note that all popular Pop Tarts have been removed from The List because everybody already like Strawberry frosted and Brown Cinnamon Sugar Pop Tarts dangit.
Hot Chocolate Pop Tarts - * * * * ½
Cheese Danish Pop Tarts - * *
Strawberry Milkshake Pop Tarts - * * ½
Fudge Sundae Pop Tarts - * * * * ½
Today I started a new journey with Cinnamon Roll Pop Tarts. Will report back later.
Did anyone else want to shoot that damn dog in Duck Hunt?
OK, I missed the duck. So what? You think that's funny? Keep laughing and we'll see how funny it is!! I'm going to strangle you with the gun cord you bastard!!!
Friday, May 4, 2007
With this story, I can hear Jay Leno's nauseating, predictable monologue a mile away. Come on, Canada. You know that you're the butt of so many jokes here in the states. But this is just too easy.
Pathetic story about Canada's pathetic postal carriers
Normally when a jackass makes a mistake, we all end up paying for it dearly one way or another. In this case, a thief in Utah has actually made life potentially better for all taco lovers.
A Mexican restaurant owner is willing to give 500 tacos to any person who offers up information about a broken window and a missing $3000.
Dude, I think I'm going to quit my job, buy a van, and start solving crimes. And I'll charge in veggie tacos. And Jarritos. And maybe Mexican beer. . . and salsa . . . and chips. . .pretty much if I solve a crime they can take me out for a Mexican feast. Thank you jackass in Utah!
I will most likely not be your friend if you are one of those guys, or girls, that sits in a public space by yourself and scrolls through every single one of your ringtones. Seriously. Why? No one thinks you're cool. We all have the same crappy ringtones. And no, we don't think you're streaming cool music on an advanced state of the art cell phone. You're an annoying douche. Everyone around thinks so. STOP IT.
Remember that cartoon The Real Ghostbusters? It was on back in the late 80's and early 90's. OK, well remember the Bogeyman? Holy crap. I don't care what ANYONE says, that monster was, and still is, the creepiest monster ever envisioned. Pretty much put goat legs on anything and it's creepy as hell.
I like my job and this is why.
I have my own office (ok, it doesn’t have windows and the walls are painted that nonchalant taupe color, but my name’s on the door). Our kitchen has a Flavia machine. The two of us have a pretty good relationship.
As long as I come in on time, work responsibly, and don’t blast music too loud no one really seems to care what I’m doing. My official title sounds busy and statuesque. I have sweet business cards. The company sends me to conferences and I’m allowed to make them pay for my food. But I’m slowly coming to the realization that it’s not very hard to make a living. If my Mom was here she’s add, “but it IS hard to make a life” and then we’d hug. What’s noteworthy is that out of a 9 hour day, minus the all-important lunch hour, it amazes me how I’ve perfected the Art of Multitasking. YouTube, Facebook, MySpace, googlechat, various, actual work related documents (Word, Excel, Outlook), and somehow I accomplish more than enough and still find enough time to talk myself out of closing my door and napping; forehead to desk.
Oh, God bless day jobs.
Leaving work. What a great feeling. You flip off your computer, flip the phone to voicemail, grab your bag and you're off. Yesterday, as I was leaving, I had to drop a FedEx package before I headed home. As I was getting off the elevator I realized I forgot my jacket upstairs. So I dropped off the package and headed back towards the elevators. A gentleman had just stepped off an elevator so I hopped in before it closed. I chose poorly. This "gentleman" blew a rank one in the elevator before he got to the lobby. And the elevator sealed its filthy aroma for me. This guy thought he was going to get away with it. He thought no one would ever know. But I knew. Good Lord, how I knew. That's not exactly how you want to end your day of work. So how about it elevator farters? Why not leave your gaseous ass for the outside world where it can diffuse, not closed quarters used by an entire building? Thanks.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Occasionally we do work. Ahem. "Work."
You know us; we work in an office. We put in 8 hours a day, 5 days a week like everyone else. The difference is we're not big important hot shot execs. We're "administrative assistants" and "assistants to the. . ." and "associates." We don't do the real work. That's because we don't have to. That's not why we were hired. That's their job. We answer phones and send faxes. If you want more from us, pay up. If not, then we'll continue to try and look busy when the boss walks by. You know the tricks: sit up straight, have an important business-like website/document ready, furrow your brow and shuffle papers, etc.
We're bored. Very, very bored. And since we can't drink on the job . . . legally . . . we're doing this. It's not much, but at least we get paid for it. And I'll drink to that.