Posts Tagged ‘Architecture’

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Minutes from the Fancy Plans Employee Meeting

September 25, 2009
Before we adjourn this meeting, I'd like to show you all this doodle of you all in very compromising positions.

Before we adjourn this meeting, I'd like to show you all this doodle of you all in very compromising positions.

September 23, 2009

In attendance: CLT, Edna Morton (Research), James (Art Dept.), Meredith (Secretary).
Not in attendance: RF Interference (currently heading the House Committee on Un-American Sports Activities)

CLT: Alright. We’ve had a pretty good month, so far. Just a couple of things to note:

1. While readership is up, out leading incoming search is “Richard Simmons,” meaning we have made some inroads into a very fucked-up demographic. I don’t want to point fingers, James, but it’s all coming from the low-angle shot you took of him in his shortiest shorts.

While I’m sure we can all appreciate a nicely-toned ass, I’m not sure we need the kind of readership that is looking for sweaty shots of Simmons’ Ken-doll anatomy.

2. We need to work on our quality control. The New York Times Review of Blogs posted what some might consider to be a “devastating” review. They said we “lack any sort of cohesive theme or focus,” and that we only “occasionally show any sort of insight, mostly limited to rare moments when RF Interference can squeeze a post in edgewise.”

It goes on… at quite some length… let’s see… “caustic windbag CLT…” “amateurish cynicism…” “not real journalists…”

So, some room for improvement. Especially you, James.

And not to point fingers again, James, but your photo selection has slipped. I need concise, devastating pictures that can be easily used again themselves. If I have to spend more than 30 seconds thinking up the perfect caption, then that’s another This Week’s Featured Soaps that won’t make the publishing deadline.

James: Can I speak freely?
CLT: Sure. This is the good old U.S. of A., despite RF’s best efforts.
James: Most of the vague requests and posts leave a lot to the imagination. I’m not really receiving concise direction from you.
CLT: Oh, I’m sorry. I’m the talent. I thought with your fancy degree in… what do you have a degree in?
James: Middle Eastern architecture. I minored in Numerology.
CLT. Jesus Christ! Really? Who the hell is doing the hiring around here?
James: WordPress suggested me using their search engine. I was under “Humor” for no discernible reason.
CLT: Correct me if I’m wrong, but your diploma has calligraphy on it?
James: Yes. I suppose it does…
CLT: Well, Mr. Pompous Jackass Degree Holder, for the rest of this meeting you’re going to use your imagination and pretend that you are now living in a third-world dictatorship and anything derogatory you say will be punished severely.
James: [sulks]

CLT: Moving on. We recently ran a full page of retractions leading me to believe that our fact-checking is not up to spec. Edna?
Edna: I’m sorry, Mr. CLT, but I don’t have much to work with. You banned me from the internet after the fourth crippling virus I downloaded and the encyclopedias you’ve been picking up from the grocery store are short several volumes. Many of the pages contain nothing but coupons.
CLT: Let me cut you off there. And please, call me “Sir.” Your lack of resources is not really my problem. Or maybe it is. Either way, we’re going to simplify: this is your problem. Are you banned from the library computers, too?
Edna: I have one strike left, but it should be gone after they reboot tomorrow morning.

CLT: Alright. I’m going to call a quick recess and go have several shots. You wait here.

CLT: What the fuck? There’s nothing but Triple Sec and Cointreau in here! Where the hell did all the booze go? Edna?
Edna: [snores]
CLT: James! Smell her breath.
James: Why do I have to—
CLT: Because you are the unpaid and abused intern. I’m not going anywhere near her mouth. She eats black licorice all day and apparently drinks a lot of booze. When she opens that thing, it looks like the gateway to hell. Only with less teeth.
James: I’m not going to do that!
CLT: James. I’m going to start writing some numbers on the whiteboard. Stop me anytime… 23…
James: [screams and heads over to Edna]

James:Oh… god… oh god. She’s been drinking.
CLT: Thank you, James. I’m leaving that number on the board for the remainder of this meeting. Try to focus.

Meredith, take a letter. “To the estate of Clive F. Cussler…”

James: I believe Clive Cussler is still alive.
CLT: Really? How the fuck do you know? Flip through a sudoku book? Leave the facts to the pros. Edna? What do we have on Cussler?
Edna: [belches quietly, continues snoring]
CLT: Well, I’m calling that 2 vs. 1, James. Do the math.

To the estate of Clive F. Cussler,

Thank you for your letter dated September 3rd, 2009. In response to your request for the removal of the offending Cussler interview, I have decided to continue running the post. Until you have conclusive proof that Mr. Cussler is not an insufferable prick and that his son can operate an automatic door without assistance, the interviews stays as is.

I will accept time-stamped video accompanied by a signed affadavit. You have my sympathy over the loss of Mr. Cussler, etc. etc. Go fuck yourself.

Sincerely,
Capitalist Lion Tamer

Meredith, read that back to me.

Meredith: [reads letter]
CLT: Good lord! Do I sound like that? All overbearing and profane? Did you add something?
Meredith: No. I transcribed it exactly.
CLT: Hmm. Try to soften it up a little. Throw in a few “prithees” and a couple of F-bombs.

Meredith: [retypes letter]
Meredith: Would you like me to read back the edited letter?
CLT: No. I’m sure it still retains my famous quiet dignity. James, check the file cabinet for some anthrax and toss it in the envelope.
James: Jesus. You actually have some of that?
CLT: I picked some up in early 2002. Everybody had some. Scarcely a letter went out without a heavy dusting of it. It should be in the first aid kit.
James: It’s all gone.
CLT: Nothing? Not even a small but deadly amount?
Check out the box marked Fleetwood Mac’s Greatest Hits. There should be some coke in there. Unless Edna got there first… Toss some of that into the envelope.
OK. Run that to the post office. And James?
James: [exasperated sigh] What?
CLT: When they ask you if there’s anything “flammable, hazardous, perishable, etc.,” try not to say something instinctive like, “It’s not anthrax. It’s cocaine.”

[James heads to post office.]

CLT: Anyone have anything? No? Edna? Edna!
Edna: [snores]
CLT: Alright. We’ll see you all next month, with the possible exception of James.

RF: What a night. Did I miss anything good?
CLT: We have lousy employees. Meredith is the only one worth keeping and I’m sure she’ll e gone once her first paycheck bounces. And thanks to Edna, the liquor cabinet is now about as useless as a fridge full of condiments.
On the bright side, James can be intimidated by writing nearly any number on the whiteboard.
RF: Right-o. Well, I’m off to exchange my greenbacks for British pounds and hit the pub for some football and unintelligible accents. You in?
CLT: American football?
RF: [glares pointedly]
CLT: Fine. Go Tottenham. Rue Britannia. You’re buying the first round.

-CLT

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