Why... So... Serious?

Greetings, WYMOP readers!

This is a quick one, I promise you! I know you may be a bit leery after my lengthy amusement park adventure over the past three weeks, but I do promise.

Some of you who have been reading for a while (okay, maybe that one person who has been reading a while —  I have no illusions as to the actual popularity of this blog) may remember one of my co-workers, a man I’ve referred to in the past as ALM: the Angry Little Man. The other day ALM was in full A mode, and I decided to do something about it.

Here’s the story:

~ ~ * * ~ ~

I had been watching ALM all morning, marching about the work floor with his little face set in his ‘I just dare anyone to @#$% with me’ expression. So far it was working, and no one was speaking to him. People were looking at each other, sometimes even right over his little head, with warning looks and mouthing the words ‘leave him ALONE today!’. So I left him alone.

But he looked so unhappy. Seriously. What was I supposed to do?

I decided to poke the tiger.

ALM was walking toward the door, on his way out to the parking lot, when one of the women on the other side of the floor complained loudly about having to work that day.

“What are you complaining about?” I shouted back, hooking a thumb at the passing ALM. “You get to work all morning right near this guy!”

I widened my eyes and grew a little gaspy with astonishment.

“It… how… how does it get any better than this?”

ALM just shook his head, little teeth gritting, and walked out the door. I followed, shouting back over my shoulder to the woman.

“I’m going to walk out right behind him! Maybe if there are some of those paparazzi around they can get a picture of him and me together and we can wind up on the cover of People! They could run one of those ‘who is this man seen with ALM’ pieces, you know what I mean?”

We were out in the parking lot by this time, and there was no way the woman could hear me any more, but it had never really been about her anyway. I was right behind him and ALM could hear me loud and clear, and that was all I really wanted. I held up my hands as if framing a headline.

“ALM, stepping out?”

No reaction as he unlocked his truck door.

“ALM: Boy toy?”

Still nothing as he slung himself up into the seat, though he did turn to look down at me. I gazed up at his angry little face, hard as a stone and just as difficult to break.

Then, inspiration struck.

“Hey! I know! I’ll twerk for you like that Miley Cyrus chick! That got her and that Thicke guy a lot of press!”

I spun about and bent over, thrusting my backside into the air as I looked at him, upside-down, from between my knees.

“C’mon down and get close!”

Having no idea how to actually  twerk, I just started to gyrate and pump my hips, double-time. Right there in the parking lot.

Ten seconds later I was walking toward my own truck, smiling at the sounds of ALM in his truck behind me, laughing so hard I thought he might wet the seat, and ignoring it when he managed to gasp some words out in between guffaws:

“...where… do… you… come up with… this @#$%?”

I dunno. Internet maybe?

What the hell was he laughing about? Don't I look hawt?
And where did ALM get that Beetlejuice suit?

Talk to you later!



And, because I think sometimes we all want to do this: A Husky having a metric butt-ton of fun!