Holiday Bacon: Exposed!

The Camel Controversy With Robert T. Bruce!
Part Oomph: The Scary Puppet

"Mmnnnn....nothing like the feeling of warm cloth settling against the loins!" yawned Robert T. Bruce as he dismounted from the pole vault that was his mule. "I don't even care about Mount Olympus! Do you know why? I hate those ghastly pomegranates, and I understand that they are quite abundant in the afterlife!" he explained to his diseased companion, Pablo Peculiar. "I shan't miss a thing if I go to Hell instead," he reflected into his travel mirror.
"That's nice," replied Pablo (who wasn't).
"And furthermore," Robert T. Bruce interrupted, "I daren't wonder what I should look like in a toga!"

Silence.

"A HUH HUH HUH HUH!" He added, shoulders twitching with mirth. Pablo Peculiar said nothing. It was almost as if he had been stricken with a nasty case of the measles, which of course, he had. Robert continued, much to the dismay of the audience: "From this point forward, Pablo, we shall not wont for amusement, for I am quite the jester! I fancy myself immensely!" At this, he dismounted again and headed toward the castle conveniently placed a few yards away.

NEXT SCENE: AT THE CASTLE DOOR

"It's loched."

(drumroll)

"Oh, bother!" squealed Robert T. Bruce. "I forgot the password! Now what was
it...antelope? Marshmallow? Crippled Monkey With Hoof and Mouth Disease?"
"Why," interjected Pablo, "don't you just use the key?"
At this point, a very large rock fell from the sky and struck the ground a quarter mile away from Robert T. Bruce. He reacted as a child would have, given the circumstances. "Oh!" he faltered (and fell). "Oh, my head is swimming! My heart is racing! That rock was nowhere near me!"

Pablo graciously changed the subject (and his bandage).

---
The Truth About Holiday Hiring

I found myself in the middle of a corporate skirmish. Our regional manager insisted that I hire 12 people for the holidays, when we clearly could get by with 8, and in fact, would only be generating enough income to comfortably support 7. "People get tired!" she explained. "We need to switch people from the register to the floor so that they don't get burned out!"

Don't get burned out? What was this, the military?

"..and you can cut your hours by 15."
Ah.
"..and make a prominent display for all of those unwanted strategy guides for delisted dreamcast games that nobody owns!"
Er...?
"...and make sure you ask everyone to reserve something, even if they're three years old, don't speak English, and have no arms! Sell, sell, SELL!!!!!"
Oh.
"...and stay within payroll!"
Uh..
"God, I'm beautiful," she exclaimed as she took a break from barking orders to examine her reflection in our newly-polished glass cabinets.
"Well," I ventured,"I don't really need anyone else on my staff. I can't train them if I don't have training hours, and to avoid going over payroll I need hours--"
"SILENCE!" she shouted, even though we were two regrettable feet apart. "We must make money for our wonderful company! Our company treats us so well! They give us evenings and weekends off, and vehicles to drive, and free laptop computers.."
"I don't get any of that," I interrupted.
"WHO CARES??!!" she responded. "I GET THESE THINGS AND THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS!!"
"I don't understand how I'm supposed to take on five new people, train them while cutting payroll hours, and still get everything done during the busiest part of the year. You won't even allow overtime!"
Her face contorted into various expressions, almost as if she were trying to squeeze out some kind of intelligent response. This proved to be too much of an effort, however. "THE COMPANY IS RIGHT! THE COMPANY IS WONDERFULLLL!" she sang, and did what I gathered was supposed to be a "Corporate Happiness Jig." Then she turned around to face my staff: "I DON'T HEAR ANY SELLING GOING ON!"

The madness continues...
---
A recent poll showed that 54% of llamas prefer the taste of root beer to Mountain Dew. My question is, "What about Mello Yellow?"

Fin.