Good on you, sir. You have balls.
Good on you, sir. You have balls.
My nickname is Puke wrote:
It was Christmas of '08 and my office decided to celebrate things in a non-traditional way. The planners decided to make it a Morrocan themed party. Lots of alcohol and even a guy on a water pipe.
A little background for me: When I was in college, I used to get wicked hammered. I would chug a fifth of So-Co, sneak into a frat party, polish off people's empties, some brewskies, some Jell-O shots, do some body shots on myself, pass out, wake up the next morning, boot, rally, more So-Co, head to class. Probably would have gotten expelled if I'd let it affect my grades, but I aced all my classes. They called me "Ace" It was totally awesome. I got straight B's. They called me "Buzz".
Anyway, one of the older ladies in the office got so smashed that she lit her hair on fire without even knowing it. My boss decided to try to perform an intervention right during the middle of the party. When that failed he even tried to commit her to rehab.
I ended up having a great time learning some tunes on the sitar, which my fiance' totally dug.
I see that my manager has offered his opinion on our office parties, and I'll I can say is I've been here eighteen years and have suffered through some weird thematic Christmases. A Honolulu Christmas, A Pulp Fiction Christmas, A Muslim Christmas, Moroccan Christmas. Mo-rocca Christmas. I don't want it. Christmas is Christmas is Christmas is Christmas.
I don't want no Kwanza wreath, I don't need a dreidel in my face, that's it's own thing. And who's that black Santa for?! I don't care! I know Santa ain't black! I could care less. I want Christmas! Just give me plain baby Jesus, lying in a manger, Christmas!