Before I became the Dalai Moron and led a world revolution of unholy stupidity, I was Jedi Master, inflicting lasting damage on workplace productivity.
I lost my job. Retrenched. Not because I’m a moron. Or maybe it was. Maybe it was the unofficial deciding factor. Is this dude a fucking moron? Okay, tell him it has nothing to do with his lack of intelligence. Make up another reason, like restructuring or cash flow or whatever. Just make sure he doesn’t come to work with explosives strapped to him the day after you tell him the bad news. That would be counter-productive.
So they forced me to come to work naked for my final month of office slavery. Okay, not really. But maybe I should have, you know, looked like a fool with my pants on the ground. Imagine a naked Jedi Master and you have more mayhem in the confines of an office space than this show.
Mid-post disclaimer: What I’m describing is best referred to as temporary insanity in a court of law. Sure, mine may still be lingering, but I’ve always been a fairly conscientious dude when it comes to work. I chirp a lot and call people morons, but somehow remain professional. Not this time. This was a whole new level of rabid idiocy. Fun all the same.
Instead of exposing my butt-cheeks to the unfortunate morons I worked with, I found some weird plastic tubes lying about the office. As bored about-to-be-retrenched people tend to do, I created my very own Jedi light sabre — the plastic toy version; watch Star Wars if you’re not geek enough to know what I’m on about — and wreaked a little havoc around my colleagues as they tried to do an honest day’s work. They were very tolerant and humoured me most of the time, which makes them all very special morons. *sob* I miss them.
As a result of my antics, I became Jedi Master, earning my very own avatar and an immortal place in office history …