I’m not sure why, but this poster really cracked me up this morning. It’s not a long evolutionary step from Lab Rat to Cubicle Serf.
Sheryl and I talked about this the other day.
I said, “If I’m stuck in the Zombie Apocalypse, I’m calling Derek, Ryan, and Mike.”
Those are the husbands of three of Sheryl’s nieces.
They know how to do things.
You can count on those dudes.
Made me think about what would happen at work during a Zombie Apocalpyse.
Who would you pick for the Corporate Zombie Apocalypse?
There are rockstars and there are people you’d call during the Zombie Apocalypse.
They’re not mutually exclusive.
But they’re both hugely valuable.
Matt and Espen got their wisdom teeth removed today. Here they are right afterward talking about it. I love their Marlon Brando in The Godfather impressions.
Stopping Tiger Woods on a Snowy Evening (a poem by Elin Nordgren Woods and Robert Frost)
Tiger Woods, I’m sure I know.
Her house is in the village though;
He will not see me standing here
To watch his phone fill up with — Whoa!
My little kids must think it queer
That he smashed a hydrant here
Then, hit a tree, that oily snake
On the darkest evening of the year.
I break a window, give him a shake
He says there must be some mistake.
The only other sound’s the creep
Blaming Ambien — he’s a flake.
Tiger Woods was lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.