1/22/2017: Beefstick Monkeybutt

They bought pizza for lunch for the office on Friday from the GOOD pizza place (which always takes a bunch of coercion (why, I’ll never know) and I’ve been enjoying a slice for breakfast for the last couple days.

So this morning, on my way out of our morning meeting, the fridge called to me as I passed it, so I went diving in the pizza box contained therein and scored a slice of plain, stuffed the end in my face and walked the rest of the way back to my desk.

“Do they deliver?” our resident gym rat asked.
“No. We had to go get it.”
“I know, but DO they deliver?”
“No. We had to go get it.”
“I know you DID go get it, but do they deliver?”
“Dude, listen: No. We had to go get it. That’s a complete answer to your question. I don’t know how else to say that.”

He just…blinked at me, this pained expression of confusion washed over him, before he nodded in dismissive assent.

He’s a good kid. But he’s just…been set up with fewer gears than the rest of us.

Bless his heart.

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