The Man is on the verge...of what? I'm not exactly sure.
When we last left off, SmartyPants had quit, leaving The Man with one less lackey to shove around. He responded the only way he knew how, by hiring a slew of new lackeys: an old guy who thinks he's god's gift to propriety, an escapee from a Fellini movie, and a new kind of lackey...a personal assistant. No, that's not a typo. The Man hired himself a personal assistant. To staple papers and relay messages to the other Worker-Ants from his throne.
But he did not survive the revolving door; he was fired before the new year. As was Ms. Fellini- she actually had the audacity to try and bring logic and order into The Man's land of confusion...the nerve of some people...
More interviews convened, and then, in a dramatic turn of events, a blast from the past appeared from the ashes like a Phoenix...the One-Man-Editorial-Department. He's in "talks" with the man about returning to the basement, and I really can't imagine what possible catastrophe happened to him out in the sunlight to bring him back to Karma's butt crack.
In other news, Jabba's nuptials have been indefinitely post-poned (the guy must have gotten new glasses); Fucking Moron got engaged and grew a brain- we may have to change her name as she is now hip to The Man's games; Wigmaster B was put in her place, finally, for trying to be the new Queen of the Harpies; Little Bitch Boy is a daddy again; Fat Bastard has a bun in the wife's oven, much to his chagrin; Fat Bastard's twin, Red-Headed Stepchild, has a seed due any day now; Daddy's Little JAP is still sans homme. The Man's growing empire is really starting to frighten me. Soon he'll have enough descendants for a crazed publishing army, shoving bad journalism down our throats well into the next generation of impressionable readers.
I will say a little prayer for us all.
Happy New Year, Worker-Ants. Here's wishing you a basement-free 2007!!
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