(Hear me loud. In my best "if the Cos were a woman he'd talk like this" voice. Imagine the Cos speaking to Rudy and Peter and that gang of slumberers ... It's almost time to ride that kneehorse.) Attencion. Attencion. (Holding both hands up like Dumbledore in the Great Hall.)
Ah, thank you.
This week's "Be Good Atchyo Job" tip: Staple it and staple it and staple it well.
I won't go into details because the devil is in there and he keeps enough shit started as it is; however, I would be remiss were I not to implore each and every one of you to aspire to the high standards of measured alignment, firmness of wrist and, as it is oft overlooked in many things in this life -- in free throws, Gavin DeGraw tunes, failed birth control attempts and golf swings -- the follow-through.
I call this to your attention today because careless stapling isn't as sweet as a careless whisper. Indeed (and obviously), guilty wrists have got no rhythm (which is why I'm gesticulating wildly at this very moment). Careless stapling ruins the reader's ability to read, and where does that leave poor reader? In nothingness is precisely whereupon s(he) is left, as if one cannot read, one obviously cannot be ... a reader ... and that is a sad day indeed, among other things.
What I am saying is this:
Please be advised of your readership's needs when adhering the pieces of paper together. We (yes, I'm invoking "we" in the royal sense) would ask one to be mindful that though we possess many talents and skills that leave us qualified far beyond one's current pay grade, we cannot read what's in between the stapled portions and we are too old to play peekaboo trying to do so. Further and over or under more, it behooves each and every one of us who are forced to resort to playing Twister with one's paper so that one's eyes may gain admittance to that which (take a breath here), in more capable and considerate hands, would otherwise be readily available for us to peruse.
This haphazard juxtaposing of the papers one all too often has to face greatly challenges - no, impedes - wrist's otherwise ergonomically sound complacency of being and is a prelude to a most undesirous discomfort.
We implore you to realize, oh wayward, careless, lazy ass staplerperson(s), that no task is truly mindless or so trival as with which to be trifled. So please make a note to all neurons and receptors and other cranial conduits to go forth and staple soundly ... securely ... satisfactorily.
Consider yourselves beseeched.
Red Swinglines for you all,
Her Imperial Haughtiness The Duchess of Do-Right Patron of the No Good Administrative Task Goes Unpunished League
Psst! (I am now vaguely reminiscent of Samuel L. Jackson in Jungle Fever ... sniff, sniff, twitch.) This message is brought to you by the after effects of Mountain Dew. There is crack in it. Ekto-crack to be exact, as it is green. Will someone please call Egon? And the fire department? I am so high off this mess I'm afraid I'm rather like a cat and I can't get down ...)