I speak to you on this fine spring afternoon, gentle reader, as a champion and proponent of deliberative democracy. I speak to you, gentle reader, as a driving force behind meaningful civic discourse. And I speak to you, gentle reader, as one of the parties responsible for revitalizing suitemate Carl Gustafson’s blog.
Although I’ve encouraged weblog participation, although I’ve given Carl his voice back, he chose to slander me. So I must defend both myself and you, dear reader, from accusations most vile.
I want you to look at the profound portrait gracing his webpage. Notice the boldness, the stark definition, the articulation, the charming simplicity permeating the picture. ‘Tis worthy of meditation, no? Well, enough about the Triscuit box; now I want you to focus on Carl. What you witness, gentle reader, is a digital embodiment of pure unreasonableness. I would tell you to ignore him, to allow him to continue to philosophize with I-don’t-know-what-the-Hell-he-impaled-on-those-pencils, had he not MALIGNED our beloved company.
But e-slandered us he has, and reply we shall.
I want you to unwind the yarn attaching your mittens to your jacket, CEO Gustafson, and use that to re-measure the dimensions of your bus. You might call that a “bus,” but most people would call that an “extra-special care institution.” Those TV’s? Hospital monitors, unfortunately. Those recliners? Notice the leather straps on them, bucko. That “cruising” sensation? All in your head. And oven-mitts? Allow me to chortle softly.
May you never miss another stop on the short bus, goodly CEO. Begone! Back to your lemon cookies and Kool-Aid you go.
Oh, and you’ve yet another site for your stalking pleasure, gentle reader.
I’ve two quick announcements for you today, gentle reader, before I head off to wine and dine with investors.
First, I assume that the latest entry in gentle reader Patrick’s webjournal is public domain, so I will make it even more public domain. I’m referring to the entry about the power of words and, mon ami, ROMANCE. At this point, three things demand articulation:
1. Congratulations to you two!
2. What’s up now, Brandon “Boy” Toyama?
3. And, if you’ll allow me to indulge in childish wordplay, Yao-wtch!
Second, the editorial staff of Secondhand Rants would like to correct an inaccuracy in yesterday’s post. I erroneously reported that Carl stole my Wand of No-Pain. This is incorrect. I still possess my Wand and what’s more, I smacked Carl over the head with it yesterday. Repeatedly. It’s back to the short bus for you, Mr. Gustafson.
While Secondhand Rants does not regret this error, Carl most certainly does.
One of the greatest joys for any CEO, gentle reader, is the sheer pleasure of interacting with people. Yesterday provided me with two such instances of interpersonal goodness.
After feasting on exquisite Mexican food with gentle reader Linda, she shuttled me back to my skyscraper. I wished her a good evening as I shut the car door.
“Well,” I said, “have a good night.”
She probably responded likewise, I don’t remember, but what I do remember is her parting shot.
“Go home,” she laughed, “to your elves.”
Were it not for my poignant sense of decorum, I would have tasted dinner AGAIN. I kept up a chipper disposition, however, until she pealed away.
Elves. Longtime gentle readers know how much I loathe these creatures. Though I kept up a chipper disposition, my inner child cried like the dickens. How could she mention so abominable a creature? I would have crumpled to the ground in fetal position, but my work ethic propelled me to my office.
And so I trudged into my office building to find gentle reader Carl lounging about in the lobby. I don’t remember if I’ve warned you, dear reader, that meetings with me usually end in a happy maelstrom of TEARS and BLOOD, but Carl clearly never heard of such a warning. He rose from my Posh n’ Plush™ lobby couch to greet me.
“Hello, gentle CEO,” he said with an outstretched hand.
He thought he was being smart, I suppose.
“Who are you?” I warily asked, slightly nettled that my faithful, yet simple doorman once again let in a gentle reader without my approval.
“I’m a gentle reader!” he said with a grin. “I’m here to interview you.”
“If you must.”
“First of all,” he began, “nice blog yesterday.”
At the first hint of sarcasm and constructive criticism, Sir Dippenschitz quietly handed me my modified Cane of Good Behavior: my hallowed Wand of No-Pain. This is simply the Cane, coated in delightful acid, which I use to rebuke nasty, nasty sarcasm.
“Do continue,” I told Carl.
Unfortunately, just as I raised my Wand with righteous justice, Carl disarmed me with his superior martial arts skills. Then he tore out of the lobby with Wand in hand.
“Curse you, Carl!” I said with a shake of my fist.
In one evening, I lost my bat and some of my inner child. Tonight, however, I gained something. You know what I gained? The privilege to write a six to eight paged paper. I may weep openly now.