Shipmates,
I know it’s been a while since my last post. Alas! What piece of sophistry can I offer in my defense? Which register of pathos will convince you that it was surely my best intention to fully meet your expectations of a timely blog entry? Well mates, allow me to spin a brief yarn about my most recent woes. I call this gripping sea tale, “The Dread Pirate Dewey and the Dastardly Trio: or, Tasting the Corporate Ladder One Rung at a Time.”
The winds were blowing the mighty Pequod across the blue Caribbean waters one fine morning. The sails had been rigged in a slow, easy manner as the bright sun sent the first harbingers of day streaming up from behind the lush clouds on the horizon. The waters lapped lazily against the bow of the vessel only served to reinforce the sleepy serenity of the scene. The mates, from the lowliest cadets to the even more lowliester* librarian, all moved slowly and happily like over-fed kittens basking amongst their mother’s milk-fat nipples. Aye, a more pastoral scene could hardly be wished for amongst the softest folds of green, sheep-draped Acadian hills.
When lo! What is that spotted upon the horizon? At first a speck barely registering in the kittenesque brain of the mate atop the crow’s nest, but quickly growing in both size and darkness. Idle conversation turns to more and more anxious speculations and finally—too late!—the sounding of the general alarm!
All hands on deck! Those are pirate colours hoisted on yon mast! Ah clever Caribbean sun! Thou hast lulled these fine seamen into dangerous waters! But what can be done? As the hull of the invading ship came within striking distance, unsurprisingly, the pirates struck, seeing as that is what one generally does when within striking distance. It would be rather foolish to bring one’s ship within striking distance unless that was one’s goal; after all, it could get rather dangerous what with the size of these ships and the possibility of collision!
As the pirates streamed across the boarding lines, the valiant crew of the Pequod offered what manly resistance they could. Our hero, the Dread Pirate Dewey, was at that moment, defacing certain Sarah Palin books. As he heard the cries from the deck, his leonine head snapped up, his chiseled features well suited to expressing the masculine rage that surged through his muscle-bound frame. And yet as Dewey leaped up to the deck in a single graceful movement—an arc so beautifully described as to bring tears to the most hardened of ex-soviet ballerinas—he stopped cold: these were not mere pirates whose flesh would surely yield before the half-dozen sabers clutched in Dewey’s iron grip, these pirates wore the Seal of Seattle and were thus untouchable!
And, even more galling, these rapscallions could order brave Dewey to do their bidding! And order they did! Night and day our stalwart hero swabbed decks and massaged the rancid scalps of the elderly until his fingers were left crippled—and even then the evil pirates forced our ever-persevering protagonist to shelve the woefully-conservative books he hated so!
“Bahahaha!” The treacherous trio laughed*, “We’ve brought the haughty Dewey down to our size! Welcome to corporate America!”
And this ends the extract of my gripping sea yarn! Perhaps another installment awaits your eager eyes? Or perhaps that long promised blog about my sartorial woes? Hold tight for another 3 weeks or so and you will probably uncover the truth!
*This is a word. Seriously. Look it up.
**In unison for some reason only new bosses understand, because, in case this story is unclear, the “treacherous trio” are the pirate-esque*** approximations of the three “real life”**** bosses that recently came into power over me. And not in a good “I’m tots gonna spank your ass while we have vigorous sex and you’re tots gonna love it!” kind of coming into power over someone, but that gross kind where suddenly your comfortable “4 hours of real work” style “work day” becomes one of those “actual” work days. As well, bosses have this thing where they need to make a host of arbitrary changes just to prove they can and will. Anyway, the ones who really suffer here are, of course, my legions of dedicated fans. And thus, I shed a tear not for my own lost freedoms, my own sacrificed time, my own ever-expanding ulcer, but for you dearest reader, for you.
***Also a word.
****See The Matrix.
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