Tales in Hot Pink is a weekly column by our fearless leader. Like all management, he is not required to tell the truth, represent himself accurately, or trouble himself with reality in any way. And, in keeping with our corporate style, he is not bound by good taste or specific subject, so he may ramble wildly from topic to topic. As his employees, we encourage this, because the day is long and we are frequently bored.
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Mascot
I decided we needed a mascot, so I brought a donkey in to work this morning. "What do you think?" I asked Alice, my secretary. "Is that a horse?" she asked. She's from the city. "It's a donkey," I told her proudly. "I see," she said. "It's our new mascot," I said. "Oh." "Isn't he a beauty?" I asked, petting the donkey affectionately on the snout. He snorted. I couldn’t tell whether it was because he liked the attention or because I was aggravating him. "Not exactly," Alice said. "I figured we could use a mascot," I said. "Keep our spirits up." "Okay," she said. "So let's give this donkey a desk and some envelopes to stuff." I handed Alice the leather reins. Attracted by the musky smell, Don approached. "Tell me this isn't my new temp," he moaned. "No," I said. "It's our mascot." "Mascot?" he asked. "What do we need a mascot for?" "Everybody's got a mascot," I said. "Everybody like who?" "Everybody like…" I tried to think of someone. "Everybody like the Onktawachee Beavers." "That's a high school football team," Don pointed out. "Right," I said. "We're not going to be outdone by a high school football team, are we?" "How does a donkey fit in with Pink Productions?" Alice asked. "He's not pink. He doesn't produce anything." To prove Alice wrong, the donkey promptly produced something. "I'm beginning to see the connection," Don admitted. "I'm not sure how he's going to fit in," I said. "We'll have a brainstorming meeting and work out the details. Until then, introduce him to everyone and make sure he feels welcome." The donkey, however, was not a team player. He spit at T.R., and began braying loudly as soon as Alice got him settled into a cubicle. We did our best to ignore him, but that was the wrong strategy. He flipped out and kicked the cubicle walls over with his hind legs, causing a domino effect that trapped Norman under a toppled desk and computer. We had to call the rescue squad. By the time they arrived, the donkey had chewed his way through four boxes of reports and recycled them into small brown piles on the floor. Norman was screaming at the top of his lungs because the ends of the push pins he used on his cubicle walls were digging into his flesh. The rest of the employees were hiding behind the filing cabinet because the donkey would charge them whenever they tried to move. "What's with the donkey?" one of the rescue workers asked me. We were safely outside the office, looking in at the havoc through the glass doors. "He's our mascot," I said. "Mascot?" he asked. "What kind of business needs a mascot?" "Every heard of the IBM platypus?" "No," he said. "You will," I said. "We'll have to call animal control," he said. "You don't need to do that," I said. "The employees will settle down once I get the donkey out of there." "We need to call animal control for the donkey, not the employees." "I see," I said, acting as if I'd understood all along. After Norman and the donkey were rescued, an ominous silence fell over the office. As with any attack by a farm animal, shock and trauma inevitably follow, and I felt it was my duty as CEO to relax everyone. "Maybe a donkey wasn't the right choice," I said. It was quiet. Only the sound of the heater broke the silence. "Pets.com," I said suddenly. "Pets.com has a mascot!" Without saying a word, Don removed his sock (the donkey had eaten his shoe), walked over to me, and slapped it on the desk in front of me. Then he limped out of the office. I considered the sock for a minute or two. It had a hole in one of the toes. "Maybe we'll just stick with pink P in the rotating circle," I decided finally. No one in the office would look at me.
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| A collection of more diseased madness below. Check
out a few, and then buy The Reluctant
Prophet. We won't tell
anyone what you spent your grocery money on. No one needs to
know. We can keep it just between us.
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