I'm sorry, dorks. I get into my rappin' moods and I forget to tell you about what else I'm up to.
So, today I started carpooling with this chick who works at the Department of Ecology. She is definitely not the kind of person who would like being called "this chick who works at the Department of too much typing".
She was talking about carpooling and some van and her foster kids and trees and buildings and I wasn't listening and driving and not listening and trying to avoid bringing up lesbians, which I don't think I normally would have except I realized about halfway to work "OH, she's a lesbian" (maybe it was because she was going on about saving the "bushes" Ha, fuck).
So, that was good and I like getting to work in 25 minutes and not an hour and 15 apples ... minutes, not apples, Brent. You eat apples. Anyways, my car smells like hippies.
Man, I used to hate hippies in high school. I think it was because they sat on the ground. To this day I refuse to sit on the ground if I can avoid it.
Man did not evolve millions of apples (dammit, years) to grow legs and hands and invent screws and wood to build chairs for hippies to sit on the ground! "It's a sit-in!" "Dammit, no it's a sit-on!"
I should do a remake of that movie "Hair" and instead call it "Chair". That's a really dumb idea. In it I will teach hippies about chairs and show them how to use them.
"This is the dawning of the age of the Lay-Z-Boy ... the age of the Lay-Z-Boy ... THE LAY-Z-BOY!"
Just a few minutes ago I was getting on the elevator to go up ('cause it ain't time to get down yet, a-huh!) and this lady who I haven't told you dorks about did something stupid. I haven't told you about her mainly because I don't want her soul fouling up my precious dorksite. It's like the Amish and their fear of cameras; I feel if I utter her existence here she will capture my soul! Her name is Wig Wolf! She is the darkness of Hell! I hate Wig Wolf! Sometimes I have nightmares that she is at my apartment very late at night to bother me. I wake up in a cold sweat screaming, "No Wig Wolf! Rainbows on your shirt don't cover the Hell in your belly! Your belly!"
And then R. Sleepy rubs my back.
Witness the fire!
(This time the e-mails are in order. I love you.)

[this is kyle, brent fell in a hole. he asked me to type this ("kyle, i'm in a hole. go update my site"). These email correspondence are REAL. like Fo' REAL. okay. i'm done]

From: Wig Wolf
To: Kinkade, Brent
Subject: Sorter
Importance: High

The sorter you dropped off, is made out of pressed cardboard. Can you please return this one and get me a plastic one.

This one is not cost efficient because it is going to fall apart, especially the lettering. The lettering is taped on to the ends.

I got approval for a sorter and I would prefer to get the sorter that I know will last me a long time, compared to one that is going to fall apart in no time.

Please order me a plastic sorter.

Please let me know if you need me to look at the Boise catalog or if you need to see (a woman)'s sorter again.
Thank you,
Wig Wolf

From: Kinkade, Brent
To: Wig Wolf
Subject: RE: Sorter

Wig Wolf,
I called around for you. (Girl #2) has a plastic sorter that she says you can use when you need one. She doesn't use it often.
If you want to hold on to the one you have for future use you may or I will return it.
In the future, please ask the different sales supports if they have supplies they can share or let you have. This is more cost and time efficient.
Thank you,

From: Wig Wolf
To: Kinkade, Brent
Subject: RE: Sorter

(Woman #1) checked with (man) and he didn't have any. (Man) said that (Girl #2) had borrowed his sorter. We need more than one sorter flooding around. If (Man) should need it, I would not have one to use. If (Girl #2) should need it, again I would not have one to use.

When I need to sort, I need to sort, it is not something that I can put off for very long and that is why I felt the need to ask you to order one for me.

You can check with (a woman), as to how many times we need the sorter at the same time. There are times that (women) and I need the sorter at the same time.

It is not unreasonable to ask for a tool that we need to do our job and it is not unreasonable to get the quality that we ask for.

Brent, don't get me wrong, I believe that you checked, but I know that there are better qualities of sorter and I would like for you to order me one. Please check for me, and please let me know if I need to escalate this request.
Thank you,
Wig Wolf


Wig Wolf,
I don't believe this issue warrants this much time or communication. The problem is easily resolved. Bring the old sorter down and I will return it, the new sorter will be here tomorrow.
I was looking for the most "cost effective" way to solve the problem as that seemed to be your original concern.

This is Wig Wolf! This is a taste of her viciousness. She is vile, all hate Wig Wolf!
Back to my original story.

Me: (getting on the elevator, which Wig Wolf is on by herself) Hey, hold the elevator.

Wig Wolf: I'm going down.

Me: (noticing that the up light is lit, door closing) But, the light says your going ... (door closed)

I hear the elevator go UP! UP NOT DOWN! WIG WOLF!

I wait for the elevator again and go up. While I'm upstairs I see Wig Wolf!
"Have a nice weekend, Brent," she snarled.
"I will have nightmares about you for life," I responded.
"My soul is pure fire," said Wig Wolf
"Yes, and God shuns ye," I said.
"That's me!"

I think I had something else to say, but ah well it's time to go pick up Janis Joplin and drink Wig Wolf away.
Real weekend this time, dorks.
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