t3knomanser's Fustian Deposits

I'm gonna hit that ball out of the park. Pulling that off was a hail mary. It's the ninth inning and bases are loaded. It's yet another sports metaphor from Management.

It's not news, but it is puzzling. Sports metaphors from management are like red-splotched white shirts- they're both what you get from eating spagetti without tucking your napkin up like a bib. Or something.

Hey look, I'm rather punchy. Go me. Will wants to talk to me at 4:30, says it can wait if I want to bug out earlier than that, and I think I just might, because really, I don't want to loiter here for an hour.

At any rate, Pongat told me that it was of "the utmost importance that Hershey LOVES us from this class – so you need to help us and hit this ball out of the park." Okay, so he emailed me that, he didn't tell me that. And I cut and pasted it here. But there ya go. So far, Pongpat hasn't gone to such great lengths as the last owner, Tom Couvares, to make sports metaphors.

Hey, Couvares, remember how you always told us how wonderful Southwest Airlines business model was and how we should be like them at your ass-brained Franchise Fridays (nothing builds morale like forcing your employees to stay late on Friday so that you can parrot what you read in some management guidebook last week)? Well, good news. They're how I'm getting to Las Vegas in a few weeks. Doesn't that make you happy?

Hey listen, I've got an airtight alibi this week, so if anything bad happens at New Horizons, well, winkwinknudgenudgesaynomoresaynomore. I kid. Perhaps I shouldn't post this if I plan to fly anywhere- in fact, I'm concerned that I'm already on a no fly list. That'd be funny, wouldn't it? Hahaha. Fuckers.