- gnatalie
- Jul 1, 2003
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blasting women into space
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corporate hot dog stories vol. 1
quote:
I think my coworkers secretly like it when stale hot dogs rain from the air conditioning vents like hurricane harvey did in 2017. But instead of drowning in despair, they wielded bottles of ketchup and mustard like a business casual re-enactment of the OK Corral.
"Throw us the innards, feed us the dogs!" they chanted in unison, while taking off their clothes.
"I'll take the hot dog, what do you want?" they asked, unfazed by this absurd situation. It was awesome.
Then, at lunchtime, I would walk into the cafeteria, ready to enjoy a whole dozen dogs in a breadbowl, when I was met by a new set of anti-hot dog heroes.
Their plan was simple: they were going to stuff the cavity of a piece of meat with ham and cheese, and then force-feed it to me.
I don't know if you've noticed, but a lot of days at work can get a little old. This one was no exception. One day, instead of a welcome treat, I found myself inundated with a ham and cheese slice, which I consumed entirely.
I spent the next day trying to get myself out of bed. I ate a bunch of pills. I threw up a ton of food in the bathroom. It was a rough day.
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May 8, 2022 04:24
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May 16, 2024 19:36
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- gnatalie
- Jul 1, 2003
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blasting women into space
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corporate hot dog stories vol. 2
quote:
Things got weird when our restricted stock unit bonuses were replaced with cases of ballpark franks. I was ok with our company's hotdog related shenanigans up to this point- nobody even batted an eye (or ear!) when on the last earnings call, the chief financial officer talked about our company growth in terms of "Nathan's points".
"We relish at the opportunity to integrate hotdogs into our corporate billing system, and believe our wiener customers will be elated", they said, between sordid gulps and groans of a strained digestive system.
A banker from Morgan Stanley, whose constant heavy breathing delighted all the listeners, asked Mr. Naifeh: "Mr. President, may I have a hot dog?" I found this request funny and I'll assume everyone else did as well.
An analyst from JPMorgan Cazenove then asked "What about BBF? Can you see a turnaround in BBF shares?"
Gasping heavily, our CFO responded, "I think you should be referring to Not Hot Dog Franks... they're related to BBF in name only."
Predictably, BBF shares rallied. So much for the "hot dogs" play. Here we are a couple years later and Nathan's hot dog machines are still roving, testing the ecosystem. The only way to quench the desires of "Big-Belly" full-bellied consumers is by creating "No-Belly" full-bellied consumers. The apocalypse is close. The mortal peril can be seen in every adult's eyes and on each tiny face: a groaning belly.
Nathan's hot dogs are getting too complicated. They are being basted and barbecued. The peristaltic action is constricting the tissue. The guts are like tiny rubbery balloons; they want to expand. We have started to see a few stomach problems. It's not that we dislike warm, moist packages of hot dogs and sauerkraut, we just can't deal with them, these frigid, plasticky hot dogs that are not just 100% natural, but rather rendered chemically, flavorless, and thoroughly processed, they are chock-full of additives. How many additives could possibly be good for a person? How many things can explode in your mouth?
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May 8, 2022 04:43
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- gnatalie
- Jul 1, 2003
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blasting women into space
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corporate hot dog stories vol. 3
quote:
The moment of reckoning between myself, and hotdog, once human, resources, finally arrived. I did everything I was supposed to. As part of my performance improvement plan, I performed a crude bratwurst-inspired interpretation of the vagina monologues whose entire meaning and purpose was replaced with corn starched khaki treatise on hebrew national bun points, condiment user stories, and frankfurter epics, inspired multitudes of those below me.
"Look, I did the hotdog fingers dance, AS YOU ASKED, and my metrics skyrocketed. Why am I being terminated?"
The head of hotdog resources glanced towards the window, then back at me, and responded: "Because no one thinks you did the hotdog fingers dance."
"I just put my wrists in the oven! What more do you want?"
"A demonstration."
I once again did the hotdog fingers dance.
Silence.
Tearing up, I said: "Do you want to see me do the hotdog fingers dance again?"
Hotdog's head of human resources explained: "Samantha did the hotdog fingers dance. Samantha was you."
I stood in shock.
"Do you have anything to say?"
And so I dropped my pants.
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May 8, 2022 05:01
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- gnatalie
- Jul 1, 2003
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blasting women into space
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corporate hot dog stories vol. 4 thank you for reading
quote:
Surrounded by my coworkers, who were clothed in various interpretations of famous hotdogs throughout history, some good, some bad (Jackie, your sauerkraut inspired a-line skirt is fantastic, but the proportions are all hosed up when you wear it with those "comfy" pigs in a blanket sandals that make a footlong look tiny in comparison to your bloated-rear end feet), I gathered my belongings in a bland bun-shaped container.
They all watched, slurped, ate, grumbled, and nervously looked around while franks were whizzing about the sky via seemingly invisible conveyor belts.
For my final goodbye, I said:
"Ok, guys, now I know how you get tipsy in the pub. You take a half a can of strong and fermented meat, rub it all over your body, and then go jogging. Then you get piss drunk because you ran your liver through a meat grinder, and now you're not as sober as you used to be, but you still look really hot, so we have to look at you. Get it?"
But by then, it was too late.
Oh gently caress, it was too late.
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May 8, 2022 05:25
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- gnatalie
- Jul 1, 2003
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blasting women into space
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no pepperoni. less cheese than a calzone. lame.
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Jun 2, 2022 23:47
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May 8, 2022 04:24
