BICWWIG

Bicwwig.

Meet my new work motto. It applies to everything I do each minute that I do it.

The Best I Can With What I Got.

I manage a team of three bodies. I say bodies, because they breathe and are alive.

Otherwise? Bicwwig.

I gave one of the dudes an assignment to copy some files from one server to another. The files got copied all right. Right into the recycle bin. I fired a ninja throwing star into the wall next to his head.

Bicwwig.

I asked another to do a list of ten things, very specifically described in painstaking detail. Four got done, the rest ignored. I dropped a one ton weight on his head while he held up a comically undersized umbrella.

Bicwwig.

The third one built a house out of bricks. I huffed and puffed and sent him a thousand emails asking him what the status of his task was, but I couldn't blow down his wall of stupid. I finally lobbed a grenade of intelligence through his window only to find that he had a force field of indifference. He is impervious to intelligence, you see.

Bicwwig.

I do the best I can with what I've got. Give me lemons and I'll make lemonade that tastes strongly of failure and tears. Give me vodka and I'll make karaoke that tastes the same way.

Bicwwig.

The color of embers in a dying winter fire

I went to a birthday party with my kids this past weekend. It was at a place called “Bounce U” which is basically just a few huge rooms with giant inflatable slides and bouncy things. Oh, and screeching kids. It has that too. It also has snot and crying kids. And pizza. One of the workers there was a 20 year old girl with a “smartphone” and a giant head.

‘Was the head inflatable?’ he asked knowingly.

Alas, no.

‘How smart was the phone?’ he asked indifferently.

Not smart enough to know it was being operated by a human pumpkin.

Her head was orange. I mean basketball orange. Gorgeous Hawaiian sunset orange. Apparently the tanning phenomenon has spread to the point where fake tans don’t even actually have to be the color tan; or even in the brown family.

“I went to Aruba for a week. I got such an awesome Orange! I mean, I think I was the orange-est one on the whole beach!”

She looked annoyed to be in the same state as these frolicking youngsters, much less in the same room as a 20 foot tall rubber slide that continually spewed out rolling toddlers who were either terrified or laughing or both at the same time. I can only imagine the text messages she was forcibly sending into the atmosphere with her tangerine speed-thumbs:

“OMG. This kid just bounced on his head! LOL! I’m a pumpkin-headed buffoon!”

“I’m totally texting at work! Someone just tried to stick a carving knife into my head and cut a toothy grin into it! OMFG!”

“LOL. My boss is such a jerk. I’m so over this place. I just had to extract myself from a basketball hoop because someone mistakenly shot a three pointer with my face.”

And so forth.

She was also, strangely enough, dressed like an Indian princess. She had the required “Bounce U” t-shirt on, but otherwise she had on furry moccasin-like boots and in general looked like a Cherokee. I moved a safe distance away and yelled “Hey Pumpkin-hontas!” to see if she would react. She didn’t (unless you count moving your thumbs over a blackberry keypad and eye-rolling dramatically as reacting).

She was orange.

Anyway, my kids had a good time bouncing around. The name of the place suggested that it was a place of higher learning, but there were no diplomas or graduation ceremonies. Maybe we’ll get one in the mail. I would like our diploma hand delivered by “Tangerine Dream” so I can tell her what a horrible Halloween decoration she is. Then I’ll make her wait in the garden for rabbits to dig her up and eat her.

She was orange.