motivational posters suck

At my workplace there is a break room, in this break room there is a field of old ladies prattling on about Dancing With The Stars and Grey's Anatomy. This is the main reason that I do not often eat lunch. In this break room is also an area where one can microwave a covered dish and if one were to make it through the mine field of 40-50 somethings prattling on about which fictional doctor is punching what fictional lawyers kitty then you are rewarded with the most depressing kitchen in the world and a poster on the wall that sports a charming picture of a stethoscope on a backdrop of what appears to be a slice of unleavened bread that sports the slogan, "Safety: always a wise diagnosis".

And hey, I love safety, you ask anyone and they'll say that I am one motherfucker who, given the choice between assessing dangers in the workplace or surfing, will pick the baby-proofing 90% of the time. But one quick look around the kitchen quickly reveals that the sharpest thing on the premises is a coffee mug; hardly a feast for a hungry safety watchdog such as myself.

So why not put the damn poster in the loading dock? Is it more likely that someone will be accosted by their croissant in the lunchroom than it is that a 300 pound supply cart will fall onto ones pelvis?

The main point of course is that safety is not a diagnosis. Well, maybe if you were wondering why you jumped into the pillow field instead of the acid knife house, then I guess the diagnosis would be safety. But how often do you really make that choice? Webster's Dictionary defines a diagnosis as:

1 a : the art or act of identifying a disease from its signs and symptoms b : the decision reached by diagnosis

2 : a concise technical description of a taxon

3 a : investigation or analysis of the cause or nature of a condition, situation, or problem b : a statement or conclusion from such an analysis

THAT FITS PERFECTLY! where's the guy that came up with this, I'm giving him the science award for math and like latin or stuff because if ever there was a man who could put 2 and 2 together it would be this guy. Though granted he would come up with a Star Trek character for his answer, and me and both my fists agree that Star trek is rarely the solution to math problems.
If anything they could have said, Safety: the best preventative medicine. That's a retarded slogan I could get behind.

Here are some phrases that are better than everyone at Poster Co.

Safety: it's better than being raped on the subway.

Safety: whaddaya think yer tough or something?
Safety: that's right, just plain old safety, it doesn't need to be fancy, just don't cut yourself or junk. Alright chief, we got a deal?

There, and it probably took all of 2 hours for Poster Co. to write up theirs.
In closing I'd like to say, come on Poster Co., you guys are doing poorly even on my rating system, and that's counting the fact that I just made you up as a clever literary device. Well, a literary device anyway.

Bus Passes Should Be Issued With Mandatory Psychiatric Reviews.

It's a widely accepted fact that people who ride the bus are completely bat shit crazy. No one's disputing this, in fact when I sit down on the bus I take a quick survey of the people sitting around me and assess them as possible threats. I sit down and try to puff out my chest like a mexican fighting cock whilst putting on my best "Don't Fuck With Me" face. Out of the six or seven people surrounding me I pick out the ones most likely to be cannibals, or crazy people and those who are weak and docile in nature. I then make a quick mental calculation of the best geographical position to be in; in case either of the former decide to lash out so that I might appease them by flinging the latter at them as I make good my escape, like a tribal Mayan offering up a sacrifice to my vengeful demigods, this is how I ride the bus.
The most intimidating member of the bussing community however is the talkers, not the loud obnoxious teenagers prattling on about their last math test. I'm referring to the ones that will frequently present those around them with hypotheticals pertaining to what they would do if they were offered happiness, eternal happiness, or perhaps they will try and tell you about their evening spent sifting the demons out of their socks so that they would once more be able to watch VH1. Or maybe you will spy them drawing circles over and over again in their gigantic notebook. For the incredibly lucky watcher there will occasionaly be the treat of watching one pick his nose, contemplate it for a second or two and then quickly lodge his treasure back where it came from, then looking around with a face that is meant to say, "Gonna save THAT one for later!" to the rest of the horrified passengers.
Sadly, this is my 4th time riding the bus after an absence of as many years and I've already seen and catalogued at least a dozen of these rare specimens.
These people are either entirely insane or insanely genius. These are the people that will one day colonize the moon, not by choice, but because the rest of humanity will become tired of pretending we care and will ship them off so that they might form their own so golden age of knowledge, while we fly by once every week to shoot a crate of supplies at them and then speedily fly back to the world we have created. A world that is one step closer to Utopia.

Irrational Fear #3

I refuse to pee directly into the water at the bottom of an unfamiliar urinal or toilet for fear of the dreaded Candirú.


That is the most terrifying 5 and a half centimeter being on earth. Actually it kind of reminds me of the luck dragon, only no arms. Like luck dragon larvae or something.

Irrational Fear #2

A race of robot scientists are planning to kill my parents in order to make me cry. Re: fear #1.

With Congratulations To Bob Rock

Whilst watching the Juno's (sorry) and wondering why in god's name someone picked that reanimated, though still sexy, corpse Nelly Furtado to host, I decided that it was because most of the known world is controlled by one man's, or many men's erections. And Nelly, though vacuous and less than eloquent, is still about a 6:5 on the Richter Scale of boner inducement. Pondering this further I have decided that most things that happen in our world are due to the boners of men.
Women in a position of power, though super hot to those who enjoy being pooped on and/or tied up, are for the most part, a major wood chopper. Gay marriage, arguably very damaging to a man's erection since it brings to mind many images that most men cringe at is largely held back because of the damage it does to old men's already fragile erections.
Nuclear proliferation, that's right, the nuclear proliferation. Let's face it, women would cease being hot if their skin was sloughing off or they were growing extra vagina's or something, for most men, one vagina is too much to handle. Not this one though, just ask the 2000 Olympic Spanish synchronized swimming team, you almost made it girls. And then there's the straight up buzzkill of nuclear winter, think about it, a Sports Illustrated Snowsuit edition? That doesn't work at all.
So I say thanks to all those boners out there that are in a position of power, thanks to you maintaining yours our children's children will grow old enough to be sexually confused by almost everything the world throws at them.

I will sing of your strength in the morning. Psalms 59:15

One of my coworkers recently quit after a minor tiff with the management, it was too bad really. He was a nice guy, with some interesting, but entirely false stories. In keeping with his standing as my favourite co-worker he quit in a way that wasn't quite what you would expect from a 68 year old, 2 time retiree. Apparently just before leaving, he subscribed to one of those daily text messaging services, this one with a daily bible verse, on every single one of the company phones. Frankly I'm jealous, everything I had planned for my last day pales in comparison to the fact that we will now receive daily affirmations of our faith in the lord, and it will cost the company money. I was just going to pee in the coffee filter or maybe release a rat in my bosses office, but those things don't seem quite good enough anymore. The notch has been kicked up so to speak, so here's my new idea: I pee on a rat, wrap it in papier machet made entirely out of the bible and using my semen as the adhesive, and then I leave it in the coffee room.
Good right?

The sad truth