Ravings of a Textual Deviant

For reasons of confidentiality, I can’t go into a lot of detail, but…

A couple of weeks ago, one of the project managers worked with asked me about a Thing. Now, to the best of my knowledge, our company does not have the Thing in question (because if it did, the project manager would be more likely to know about it than I would). I told him I certainly didn’t have the Thing he was looking for. He told me that it would be pretty nifty if I could come up some Thing.

So, last week, I did some research, added a pinch of intuition, adjusted for my own experience, and lo and behold, I had the Thing in question. I tested it, and asked a couple of others to test it independently. It seemed to be a fairly good and useful Thing. I informed the PM that I might have the Thing he was looking for.

Today, I demo’ed the Thing for my boss and another PM. They seemed very excited about it, and I am under the impression that this little Thing of mine is, if not the Holy Grail, at least the chocolate bar-whilst-suffering-the-throes-of-PMS that the company has been looking for. My boss wants me to demo it for his boss.

Squeeee!

Hans and Gretchen gazed upon the gingerbread cottage, transfixed. Holding hands, they crept forward like frightened mice. At last, they were close enough to marvel at the detail of the smooth, baroque curves of icing surrounding spun-sugar stained-glass windows. Marzipan flowers graced window boxes; the shingles were shaved chocolate.

“Do you think it’s really candy?” Hans whispered.

Gretchen stretched out a tentative finger, but before she could touch the house, she was startled by a noise behind her. A stern-looking woman in blue stared disapprovingly.

“Gretchen Braun,”

It wasn’t a question. Gretchen nodded guiltily.

“The dentist will see you now.”

I have three bills to pay, and two checks. Two of the bills could be paid online, if the websites would actually cooperate, which they won’t. The third bill doesn’t have an online payment option. The bank’s website won’t cooperate either, so I have to wait until tomorrow to order new checks. How many margaritas will Li have before she can order checks, and how many more before she can get the bills paid?

I’ve finished my paperwork for my new yoga gig, and I’ll turn it in at the next employee meeting, which is on Sunday. I have a parking permit, an employee handbook, an appointment for “universal precations” training, a big pile of forms, and a permanent class membership.

I’m really glad that I sent my brand-new boss that thank-you note a few weeks ago for setting up all the training.

Yuri had launched the transmitter satellite at exactly the right moment. It sailed through the vacuum, coming to rest in its preordained orbit. The beacon came online precisely as planned.

He redirected his own antenna to take advantage of the signal relay while he was still in range.

“Comrades, I am pleased to report that the bird is in the nest.”

“Congratulations, Comrade,” replied ground Control. “And thank you.”

“Duty is the most sublime word in our language,” Yuri quoted, as he watched the earth dwindling beneath him. His misfired capsule soared out of the ecliptic, into vast, black space.

Out of the blue, I’ve picked up a second yoga class, this one on Thursday evenings, at a corporate facility on the northwest side of town, through NIFS. It runs in 8-week sessions, with a week or two off between sessions. Paperwork will be done this week, and the class starts next week. Best of all, if traffic permits, I should still be able to take my Thursday night yoga class at the gym.
It’s like I’m a professional or something.

Me: The whiteboard I ordered for you is in. I’ll pick it up as soon as I have my breakfast.

Coworker: How big is it?

Me: (holding up breakfast bar) About like so; I’m not very hungry this morning.

Coworker: Is it a violation of [employee code of conduct] for me to want to slap you for that?

Me: So long as it’s all in your head, I think you’re OK.

Coworker: But I probably shouldn’t tell you about it.

Me: Probably not.

“When all you’ve got is a brain, everything looks like an idea.”

And so they were married.

They had slain dragons, climbed mountains, crossed searing deserts and battled pirates in order to be together. He had dueled with ancient wizards and taken tea with weird gods. She had slain her nemesis and defied a prophecy. They were meant to be together. As the hierophant pronounced the final blessing, they sealed their vows with a kiss that was legendary in and of itself.

The moment was one of pure and perfect joy; a memory to treasure for the rest of their days. Suddenly, from nowehere—

“Shit!” Max exclaimed, as the server dumped him.

Edwin the Marvel-maker—King of Sorcerers, Sorcerer to kings, and holder of myriad other self-bestowed titles—was at a rare loss for words. How could he approach his longtime business partner, Stephan the Mighty, with his latest proposition?

Edwin paced his tower chamber, muttering. “I want to enchant your weapon—no. How about I work some magic on your stick—definitely no! I want to bespell your shaft—there’s just no good way to say this…”

Later that night Stephan awoke to a strange noise. He opened his eyes and asked, “Pray tell, Edwin, what are you doing with my staff?”

Blame Thanks to Ed for the idea for this story.