The Sweet Release of Death

The Fist, Momma's Boy and the Collectively Stupid

06/23/2010 12:58 PM Filed in:The Mental Giants

“I’m gonna burn this motherfucker to the ground!” That little slice of vitriol pretty much summed up the first day of summer at Corporate Land. Surprisingly my dear readers that burst of verbal judo did not come from me. No that snapshot of “I’ve had it!” belongs to The Clenched Fist in Customer Service. I did not witness the tirade, I only heard about it from The Fist herself. That’s right The Fist is a lady. A rather foul-mouthed one at that when pushed to the breaking point, but I’d have her no other way. And who set off The Fist you ask? It was a rather meek but highly annoying man-child from the Engineering Department that’s who.

Apparently Momma’s Boy enraged The Fist with smarmy requests for printed folder labels, as his file folder rack was too naked without them. “Got my labels? I need my labels,” Momma’s Boy hammered away at The Fist in Rainman persistence, not unlike that of an annoying 5-year-old in the backseat of the family wagon on a road trip; the old “are we there yet?” form of torture. The Fist’s outburst set Momma’s Boy a fright and I’ll bet a dollar to a donut that it made him pinch out a Cleveland Steamer in his shorts from pure fear of The Fist’s impending vault over her cubicle to pound him like a Salvation Army drum.

As the Cleveland Steamer surely enveloped Momma’s Boys Dockers, a Cleveland Steamer of the software variety has dropped into Corporate Land with mind erasing force. Yes, we are the proud owners of Microsoft CRM software (Customer Resource Management) In all fairness to his Lordship Gates and his army of Indian tech support storm troopers, its not the program that is shit, on the contrary its quite simple. Intuitive if I dare say. It’s just that it has turned a vast majority of Corporate Lands working brains to shit. Its almost as if the Corporate Land staff were collectively abducted by aliens, and then returned to earth as an inbred cast of idiot savants. I mean its pushed Momma’s Boy to worry about labels for folders instead of actually working on something: “CRM very scary! Momma’s Boy gonna ask mean lady for labels instead. Momma’s boy like ice cream!”

From Engineering to Sales, to the sawdust shores of the Wood Shop, A noxious cloud from the collective brain-fart has enveloped the inner sanctum of Corporate Land. It is yet another glimpse into the future. A desolate wasteland scattered with the remains of Corporate Lands hollowed out factory. Where a titan once stood, now stands a corroded shell of its former self. Why? It failed because some arrogant, self-absorbed fucktard couldn’t take the time to click 3 tabs correctly in a software program. But hey, I’m certain that Superstar Fucktard can order the shit out of a double-tall, quad pump, with low fat, I said low fat not non-fat, vanilla latte with whip cream and Carmel sprinkles. Oh yes my dear reader that is what is important. The details of Superstar Fucktard’s coffee had better be spot-on. The $50,000 order for production? Eh, who needs the details? Let them figure it out.

So as a select few of us that fully understand the trappings of CRM within Corporate Land soldier on and wrangle in the Savants of Idiot, I look at The Fist’s verbal tirade as a release valve of pent-up frustration of basically having to change poopy diapers of the Collectively Stupid. As much as the “burn motherfucker, burn!” was a release, it was a warning also to the Collectively Stupid within ear range. For if The Fist snaps again and truly launches over her cubicle in a roundhouse flurry of feet and fists, it’s going to end in a Red Bull-fueled vendetta of idiot neutralization. And its gonna be sweeter and more filling than a double-tall, quad pump, low fat, vanilla latte with whip cream. Oh yes, the Carmel sprinkles. Details folks. Details.

Tags: Red Bull, CRM, Microsoft, Dockers, Cleveland Steamer,