Goal! Goal! Goal! Goal! Goal! You know, if a Mexican guy was announcing the new game I invented at work.
While it's not called a goal, in my new game it's just as exciting. It's called the breakthrough and if Tim McCarver were announcing the game he would provide a lengthy explanation riddled with errors that the term breakthrough derives from the mining or tunneling industry.
Breakthrough - that exact moment when the digger breaks through the material and forms a small hole. Sadly, today's tunneling industry prefers the term "hole-through."
So today we have breakthrough, the exact moment in time when the warm stream of piss has dissolved through the urinal cake exposing the slightest glimpse of the beige porcelain hidden below.
Until you have played the game it is hard to appreciate the feeling you get when the mere puddle of pee becomes an actual hole. An equivalent experience in baseball might be when you swing as hard as you can and hear the satisfying crack of Zack Greinke's collarbone when it hits squarely with the ground.
For the record, that is not my pube. While I do not shave my crotch, I do keep my bush high and tight with the same trimmer I use on my sideburns, beard and chest hair. I do not own a pube longer than 3/4 of an inch.
Also for the record that is not my boss. It's ex-hedge fund manager and convicted felon Michael Steinberg. When I'm peeing I sometimes like to mix it up and replace my boss with other despicable characters.
Zack, the guy that sits in the cubicle next to me, was disappointed that I didn't use an actual photo of my boss. He thinks I wussed out. I explained that I'm pretty sure that posting a photo of my boss in a urinal soaking in piss might get me fired if some anonymous guy named Zack ratted me out. Zack wants my cubicle because it has a window.
I have three plants that will not die for lack of sun. It's two plants more than I am allowed to have based on the size of my cubicle. I'm serious. From a policy document entitled Keeping Workplaces Clean and Safe, "no more than one potted plant for each 100 square feet of floor space and that standard shall be enforced..." Sadly, my workspace is way less than 100 square feet.
Soon after I received that memo, Human Resources did an actual audit. They noticed I was two plants over my limit and told me to give them the plants for redistribution. I said, "I'll give you my plants when you pry them from my cold, dead hands." Surprisingly, they didn't shoot me and I still have my plants.
Back to my boss. My boss is way too stupid to be a hedge fund manager but he's just as evil. He kind of looks like a 50-year old Goober Pyle or Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber. A 50-year old man with bangs? That's my boss!
So while you're peeing if you try to imagine Jim Carrey with a lot of wrinkles, a slight mullet, big watery eyes and the ugliest fucking tie worn without irony, you can be just like me.
My boss owns that exact tie and wears it once a week. I found it by googling "ugly tie contest." It's a lame version of the Looney Tunes characters as rappers. I asked him about it once, very delicately. He laughed and blamed his kids but you can tell he really likes it and thinks it makes him look hip and "with it."
Have I mentioned that my job sucks worse than Karl Rove with a mouthful of broken glass?
Back to the game. Now that we have breakthrough the action gets crazy. Can I break up the urinal cake into little pieces before the guy that cleans the men's room replaces it with a new one? Stay tuned. More game info tomorrow.