Saving Melvin's Privates

Melvin's privates are in danger. If the situation at Assclowns Inc. persists, he will likely chew off his own sausage and meatballs and bleed to death, just to put himself out of his misery.

Perhaps some of you are curious as to how Melvin ended up in this predicament. I think it's only fair to go into a little background about Melvin. After all, those who are wont to save him deserve to know. And I'm sure the rest are just morbidly curious.

Melvin has a degree in a technology field. When he graduated college, that particular field was deader than four o'clock. (Think "Need Another Seven Astronauts" if you want to figure out what Melvin's degree is in.)

But, he did find a job in a field that used some of his applicable skills, and soldiered forward from there.

His career didn't progress as expected because of a few unusual circumstances. One company he worked for got involved with a cult. (No, I'm not kidding.) Another had the burden of a vice-president too ethical to show favoritism, so a lady we'll call Moanica Knob-Slobber ended up in the manager development program instead of Melvin. And the shortage of Kiwi® shoe polish in Affirmative Action Tan was another huge issue.

After a few full stops and bump-starts, Melvin found himself grading standardized tests written by blithering retards. The situation was desperate. Money was short, and Melvin was crushed to learn exactly how many of America's young'uns thought Tupac was a role model. Still, he never gave up.

The Retard Test People were so impressed with Melvin that they offered him a job answering phone calls from a different demographic of retards. His rise through the ranks was swift and positive. He became Senior Speaker To Retards, then Supervisor Of Speakers To Retards, and finally Operations Guy Who Has To Deal With Way Too Many Assholes But At Least He Doesn't Have To Talk To Retards Anymore.

Fast forward to the current situation. Melvin didn't ask to work for Tuna Twat. She was thrust upon him like a pestilence. And I do not know her personally, but I know the type: A chick who could suck the joy out of an orgasm.

There needs to be less of those in the world.

The point is, Melvin has done everything right, and still finds himself under the wart-infested thumb of someone like Tuna Twat.

Yet, Melvin still sits on the cusp of greatness. Okay, it's not greatness exactly. More like being the personal assistant to an arrogant, arbitrary, autocratic, inflexible plush moose with a giant ego and an even bigger penis. Still, that's got to beat working for Tuna Twat.

Damn. How sad is that?

Anyway, details will be forthcoming about the Save Melvin campaign. We don't have to fund Melvin for life. He just needs to be tided over until he assumes his new position. Otherwise, he may do something he'll forever regret, like cutting the cheese right in Tuna Twat's nasty face.

Help if you can. If you can't, the moose still loves you. Especially if you have big tits.
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I Hate Idiots

The saga of Melvin and Assclown Inc. continues.

Melvin has been given a PIP (Personal Improvement Plan). Back in the day, they used to call such a thing a "written warning." But I guess that was just too harsh and un-politically correct. So now instead of warning you, they PIP you.

Melvin's manager - let's call her Tuna Twat - listed several grievances on his PIP. They boil down to the following:

"Melvin needs to be more proactive."

"Melvin doesn't work and play well with others."

"Melvin had the temerity to make a small mistake due to a lapse in memory."

"Melvin sometimes uses bad words."

"Melvin needs to communicate more with his peers and supervisors."

Of course, Tuna Twat didn't expect Melvin to read between the lines, and hear what she was REALLY saying:

"I'm a control freak, and need to be up my employees' ass all the time."

"I hate people that are smarter than me."

"Melvin needs to brown-nose more."

"When I go down in flames because I suck at my job, I'll need a few scapegoats."

"I'm so ferociously envious that Melvin is getting out of this shithole that I could spit nails."

"How dare Melvin walk, talk, or take a shit without consulting me?"

"Anyone who has the courage to point out the Emperor's lack of clothes needs to be severely punished."

All of this would be a whole lot more giggle-worthy if it weren't so fucking sad. The Peter Principle stops being funny when it starts being you.

But what the hell. Melvin really will be fine. I'm just continually aghast at what a fucked up place corporate America is. Maybe that movie Idiocracy wasn't too far off the mark.
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