The Moron Has a New Job

Once upon a time, there was this moron, see.

He was an inexperienced moron, as morons go.

Excuse me. You misunderstand. He was quite good at moronity, having many skills and much practice, but in his new capacity as tech help for a local library concern, he was indeed out of his depth. That was the idea I was trying to convey.

No, wait. As a moron, he was still plenty in his depth concerning his new job. If he were making an attempt to be competent, however, going against his moron tendencies, he would indeed be miles from wherever he left his depth.

Oh, fiddlepricks. I'm afraid I have you all confused now. I hereby issue a formal apology.

Perhaps an anecdote would prove more illustrative. That is, after all, what this Blog is about: Dodging responsibility. In fact, I'm dodging it right now. I could be...well, that's not the point.


The Moron sauntered into the air-conditioned office environment. In this office, he would perform duties (called "tasks") that would be the basis for all his major paychecks. The Moron figured that this would involve a lot of sitting around near a telephone. He knew he was very good at sitting around.

"And near a phone? I'm your man! Boy, can I be near a phone! Better than most, I'd bet!"

He said these things very loudly, because they were very true.

The Moron rednecked his way over to the little enclosure that was to be his home for the next five hours. He noted the computer and the fabric-covered walls and the telephone. Yeeeees, the telephone. Sure had a lot of buttons on it, that phone.

"Best avoid that for now," he mumbled to himself.

The Moron was given a password in order that he might log on to his work computer. This pleased the Moron as he had always wanted a password protected computer. His instructor approached.

"Hi Moron!" she said. "Ready for your first day?"

"Am I ever!" he hooted.

"Okay. First, log on to your computer."

The Moron was ready for this. He poked the keyboard to wake his computer up. The screen remained obstinately dark.

"This is highly suspect," he said. "Must be a malfunctioning peripheral." Just to be sure, he unplugged his mouse and threw it away.

"More comfortable with keyboard shortcuts, are we?" asked his instructor. "Excellent. That shows aptitude. Shall we begin?" She reached over and turned his computer on.

While Windows Vista booted up, the Moron picked some crud out of his fingernails and smirked unpleasantly. After ten minutes, the characteristically mundane "Dingly-dong!" Windows noise chortled out of his speakers.

"Scared you? Yeah. Sometimes I forget and leave the volume up pretty high too."

The Moron picked himself up off the floor. "Never in a million years," he said sweatily. "I was just checking the power strip thing down there. Did you know it's a UPS? That stands for 'Uninterr--' no, wait. It stands for 'Un-ordained Papal Squirrels.' You know? To be honest with you, that's never made much sense to me. Hey look! Vista!"

The instructor waited patiently while the Moron flailed at the keyboard, minimized and maximized a window to watch it do its fady, flippy thing and moved all of his desktop icons into a big clump in the corner of his screen.

"Whew! I am so ready for a break," the Moron said, flinging beads of honest perspiration onto the power strip. "Should that be making sizzling noises?" he queried his instructor. "I somehow don't think it should. In fact, my training suggests that it really ought not to. I'm going to write the IT guys a note and have them call a plumber."

"You're allowed one fifteen minute paid break, and you can take a half hour for lunch. But that half hour is unpaid. You'll have to mark it on your time sheet if you decide to take it."

"Will I ever!" shouted the Moron as he sauntered toward the Snickers. He took a very long time to make his choice.

"I shall select this one," he said finally to nobody in particular, picking one of the "Fun Size" candy bars from amongst its identical peers. "Because it looks like the finest, most professional of the bunch." He popped it into his mouth, wrapping and all, and chewed like an executive. He wiped his fingers on his bowtie.

"Well, you've, uh, used your break for the day," his instructor told him.

"That's okay!" the Moron assured her, throwing himself back into his chair and releasing a peanut-scented burp. "I'm wearing corduroy pants!"

"I don't see what that has to... well, never mind. Are you familiar with Microsoft Office?"

The Moron stopped making zipping noises with his thumbnail and corduroys and looked up. He formed his face into a very serious expression. One that allowed a glimpse at his wealth of knowledge, but did not display it in a condescending manner.

"They wouldn't let me in without an ID card." And honestly, why would they? he thought.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Why asketh thou?"

"Your face. You...uh, there's no way to put this delicately. You appear to be experiencing bowel discomfort."

"Oh that? It's genetic. My nephew had it too."

"So we can assume you're unfamiliar with Office. Have you ever used a spreadsheet program before?" the instructor valiantly continued.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, ma'am," the Moron said, lowering his gaze respectfully. He read once in some magazine he'd found in the break room that employers appreciated an employee who was humble and contrite. Or perhaps that was God. Or maybe that was a hymnal he'd read. And maybe that wasn't a break room, but a church.

Perhaps.

Whatever.

"It's a tool for handling and organizing large amounts of alphanumeric data. Have you ever done that before?"

The Moron, considering all the experience he'd had with alphabet soup, quickly and efficiently decided he was an expert.

"Indeed. What're all these little blocks?"

"Huh?"

"These." The Moron indicated the Excel spreadsheet onscreen with a Snickery finger, leaving a goo smear. "These little white bricks with letters all near 'em."

"This is a spreadsheet."

The Moron recovered quickly. "Have tons of 'em back home. Use 'em to keep track of my many alphanumeric items. Add 'em. Subtract 'em. Fun stuff. What should I do with this one?"

"Be familiar with it," his instructor said, getting up. "I'm going to let you two get acquainted while I go rescue a few job applications I, uh, accidentally threw away."

"It shall be totally under my control within the hour!" chirped the Moron. He focused his laser-like concentration on Excel. He bore down. He grunted and strained. He poked the keyboard experimentally, and the letter "B" showed up in one of the cells onscreen.

"Victory!" he shouted.

Then, the Moron lusted after some Cheetos...

The Zodiac

Disclaimer: To any readers out there who actually take astrology seriously, I apologize for mocking your belief that the sky dots or placemat monkeys are telling you what to do. It sounds like more of a neurosis than a strategy to me. Go lie down for a while.

Anyone who gets a newspaper or has eaten at a Chinese restaurant has probably seen a table of zodiac signs before. Personally, I like the Chinese Restaurant Zodiac the best. I looked for my birthdate on there, and I'm a boar. Or a pig, depending on where they had their placemat printed. I am chivalrous and noble and have common sense when it comes to mortgage rates. All the characteristics one generally associates with swine. One Web page I looked at also says that Boars do not "shimmer," which is kind of disappointing. I had plans to.

My favorite part about the placemat zodiacs is the compatibility list. Every sign has other signs that it does or does not get along with. I always get a kick out of reading "Beware the monkey" while I'm waiting for my curry chicken. I want that on a bumper sticker.

While the Placemat Zodiac is divided up by your year of birth, the FooDaddy Zodiak will be by month because it's easier that way. There are far fewer months than there are years, you know.

The FooDaddy Zodiak

January - Sincere Weasel

The Weasel is kindhearted and true, and would never steal any of your honey roasted peanuts because they are extremely scrupleful. Weasels enjoy long, totally harmless chats with other Weasels, and are generally well spoken of in society. Especially among other Weasels. Avoid the Swine and make fast friends (read: business relations) with the Finch and hire a Hamster for P.R.

February - Developmentally Disadvantaged Goat

Here's a sign that everyone can love! Goats make wonderful after-school specials, and feature heavily as pivotal and kind-hearted savants in Stephen King stories. Turn that frown upside down and have a handful of Skittles! It's time for a parade! Beware the Weasel and Finch, because they can't see just how special you are. You will make sparkly paper hats with the Pony.

March - Shimmering Swine

All Swines are chrome-plated and awesome. They shimmer and dazzle all they want. All Swines are sarcastic in an endearing, sweaty sort of way, and would make wonderful grandparents if equipped with canes. A Swine will generally not come right out and criticize your stupid values or moron choices, but they will drop infuriating, needling hints. Swines should MapQuest a route the hell away from the Pony and Sloth and visit a Squirrel instead.

April - Crenelated War Badger

Badgers are extremely aggressive and protective of those they love, and would like nothing more than to punch the rest of the Zodiak in the ear. But only if they annoy the Badger enough to make the Badger yell. For while all Badgers would love to pass a law legalizing road rage, they are mostly fair. The Badger would make damn sure nobody picked on the Goat and will roundhouse kick any sign that tries.

May - Giggling Pony

Tee hee! Like, Ponies are so awesome! They are the kindest and prettiest and bestest kissers! Ponies totally love writing poems in their journals about flowers and clouds, and reading Anne Geddes books, but are so totally deep too. Like, when a Pony watches a sad movie, that Pony is not afraid to cry. Ponies should never develop crushes on the Smurf, but they do. Ponies say they want a Swine because they really value a sense of humor, but they don't.

June - Addlepated Platypus

Platypuses never seem to know exactly who they're trying to fool. They have personalities composed of bits of other peoples' that they are merely leasing. They can be extremely agreeable conversationalists, because they're extremely agreeable. Tell a Platypus anything, no matter how preposterous, and they will readily agree. A Platypus should make friends with the Smurf because this Zodiak heard that it was a good idea, but please don't lease from a Sloth.

July - Exploding Firetailed Patriot Finch

Finches love their country, and anyone who doesn't can just go the heck right back to Frenchylvania, or wherever. The Finch can't prounounce the name of yer crazy foreign country, so y'all should make up a new one in God's own English. If anyone questions the Finch's patriotism, that person is probably a terrorist, and is liable to catch an ass-whuppin'. Buy a big ol' flag for your Hummer H2, take advantage of the Badger if you deem it in the national interest, marry a Pony and have fifteen children.

August - The Smurf

Smurfs don't really exist. They are the perfect friend and they are the worst enemy. Smurfs tell lies about lazy co-workers to those co-workers' bosses and elect incompetent politicians. On the other hand, Smurfs are personally responsible for leaving you a parking spot right in front of Bob Evans. Ninety-eight percent of dating relationships carried on via Instant Messenger are between a Smurf and a real person. Don't tell the Goat about a Smurf, because the Goat will be very disappointed.

September - Caffeinated Ground Squirrel

Squirrels are very outgoing, but cannot stay on topic for an entire sentence. When captured on high-speed film, fine analysis of the Squirrel can reveal actual deliberation, but--hey! Is that a peanut? Squirrels love peanuts! Circus! I went to one once, but it smelled like poop, and--whoa! Did you see that? That car had a thing on it. Should the Squirrel grow a beard, y'think? Squirrels should always attend pizza parties with the Pony or Swine, but might want to stop poking the Sloth.

October - Crepuscular Goth Sloth

All Sloths have more originality in their labret than you have in your whole body, and don't even pretend to like that band you like. The Sloth liked it first, and all you're doing is popularing it up. Don't look at the Sloth like you think you're better than the Sloth, because the Sloth doesn't give a crap what you think. The Sloth was born with only one crap to give, and it used it for choosing a brand of cigarette. You should befriend other Sloths, but only share your power crystals with the ones that are just as different as you.

November - The Carp

Nobody likes The Carp. You're just the kind of person nobody likes. No shame in that, but if you can't be bothered to bathe or to stop leaving your nose pickings right in the middle of the tablecloth, then the rest of the Zodiak is going to have to ask you to go home. You may find that shadowing a Badger keeps you out of trouble, and in your free time you should hang around the Pony because the Pony deserves it. The Sloth will find you interesting because you're differentish.

December - Snow Hamster

Hamsters are very sweet people. They will bake you cookies and they will help you eat them, and any cookies left over are stored in the Hamster's generous cheek pouches in case you want more later. You want to hug a Hamster. Seriously, you do. Look at 'em! Who wouldn't want to hug a Hamster? A Hamster is always the first person to give a handful of Skittles to a Goat or Carp, and are pretty much the only ones with a calming effect on Finches. Hamsters make good friends with everybody but the Sloth, because being nice isn't part of Sloth programming and it gives them headaches.


There you go, time-wasters! I hope this little guide enables you to get more out of your lives, now that you know exactly what to expect and whose names to keep in your cell phone. Get this Zodiak tattooed on your forearms, and life will be thwarted by default every time it tries throwing you a curveball.

Disclaimer: If you were born under a sign that does not, in any way, describe you, keep in mind that the FooDaddy Zodiak is no more binding than any other. Go lie down for a while.