A BASKET, ONLY DON'T ASK

The other day we had a special lunch day where Dr. Hemoglobin decided it would be a good idea if we pretended it was a picnic. So we each ended up with our own basket and that sounded pretty cool.

That was until I opened the basket. Man talk about disappointment. Here I was thinking a basket was supposed to be something filled with tasty stuff. Wrong!

Oh it might have been a great surprise, but our boss didn’t bother to tell us that he was on this symbolism kick. It got all involved some stuff called metaphors and other junk that came down to anything, except food.

After we opened the basket where we figured food was suppose to be there was things like pictures of stuff like flowers and books and tapes and a bunch of junk that was suppose to feed our souls. Hey, my tummy knows when it is hungry, but I don’t got the slightest idea how that works with a soul. How do you even get hunger pains and know it?

Well while I and the other guys were pondering that mystery and let me tell you pondering will never be as tasty and eating, Dr. Hemoglobin really added to our unhappiness. He let old rat boy, Junior “cheese hording creep” Hemoglobin get up and give a speech. I’d rather be run over by a truck and then have to spend time wearing somebody else’s dirty underwear than have to put up with listening to Junior.

I know the other grimefighter’s pretty much felt that way too. But we coped. Which is sort of saying we kept our mouth’s shut till after we left and then did all our complaining when Dr. Hemoglobin wasn’t around.

About the only good thing that came out of getting that basket came later when we dumped out all that other stuff that was suppose to feed our souls and filled it with stuff for our stomachs. So I guess it wasn’t a complete waste to that degree. The waste part was the mess left in the trash can where we toss that other crap.

Meanwhile in Dr. Hemoglobin’s opinion, which he put in this memo, the basket deal was a big success. So I guess we will get stuck getting them again.

Only this time we all know how to cope in a lot smarter way, well either eat before he gives out the baskets and make sure we hide some good stuff somewhere to stick it in while he’s talking. Life can sure be strange at times. And over at STINK it gets down right crazy when we got a boss who decides to “enlightened” us. I keep hoping he’ll figure out someday that “en-feeding” us would get better results.

Till that happens, I and the other grimefighters are making sure we got an emergency snack stash to have ready for us on basket days. It sure saves the heart ache of looking inside and the even bigger pain of having to hear Junior ramble with every other word having to do with cheese. Too bad there ain’t a decent substitute for his talking, but Otis won’t let me use my bat to shut him up.