This Week on, “Ask Hottywood!”

Dear Hottywood,

I hate it when someone walks into my office and asks me dumb questions like, “are you busy?” Of course I’m busy. I’m at work. Is there an appropriate way to tell someone to go away and leave me the hell alone?”

There Goes My Promotion

Dear There Goes My Promotion,

BUSYI can advise you that telling someone to go away and leave you the hell alone is a sure way to not only lose a promotion but also your job in its entirety. Why don’t you try skipping deodorant for a few days or not brushing your teeth for a week? I promise you no one will want to come near you. With these actions, you won’t have to use any language prohibited in the workspace (“no,” “I can’t,” “I’m busy.”).

Unless you come right out and say you’re otherwise preoccupied by order of God, there’s no amount of acceptable deterring appropriateness that will discourage a colleague from interrupting you for any reason. In the office world, saying the word “no” to anyone or “yes, I’m busy” is laughable, ill-advised and punishable by pink slip.

If you have a private office, you may try barricading your door so no one can get in. The problem with that is you may not be able to get out. You’ll realize how big of a problem this can be when (a) you have to use the bathroom and (b) when it’s time to leave for the day. If by some off chance you are able to keep your door closed for the day with the ability to enter and exit, you want to make sure that whenever you leave your office (bathroom break, lunch break, smoke break, etc.) you do so as clandestinely as possible. This would be a prime time to exercise your ninja stealth skills. Hide behind shadows, slither on the floor like a garden snake, or even trying emailing yourself to wherever you need to be. Be warned, though. Most officemates are nosey as hell. No matter how hard you try to be invisible there is always someone watching you. ALWAYS.

If you have a cubicle, I’m sorry to say you’re screwed. As long as your colleagues can see your face you are available to them. Period.

Your best option is to try my ‘not washing your ass’ suggestion. Good luck with that!




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Permission to Replace Office Swivel Chair with Air Mattress


TO:  Superior Managers of If I Told You I’d Have To Kill You (IITYIHTKY) Enterprises

FROM:  HNIC, No One Matters But Me Department

SUBJECT:  Permission to Replace Office Swivel Chair with Air Mattress

DATE:  Half Pass Right Now, 2016

This notice of memorandum serves as an official request for permission to replace [suite #211] swivel chair with a home-supplied air mattress.

Attached you will find a signed medical notice from Dr. Boo Boo McLeod, MD of the Unsanctified Round-a-Way Medical Center, requesting that human resource officials and all other appropriate personnel of IITYIHTKY Enterprises acknowledge and honor doctor’s recommendation for Hottywood Helps to permissibly replace is raggedy office swivel chair with a tricked out air mattress, in an effort to avoid any further compulsory medical treatment administered due to a rare case of coworkersannoystheshitoutofmeoxia, from which Mr. Helps suffers.

This condition causes Mr. Helps to lash out at fellow No One Matters But Me Department staff and risks interruption of interoffice departmental work progress, therefore he should be granted immediate approval to replace said furniture with a more comfortable sleep-encouraging apparatus.

Upon recent telephone conversations with Mr. Helps’ physician, Dr. Boo Boo McLeod, and in addition to research gathered from the world wide web, an air mattress would ensure Mr. Helps’ speedy recovery from coworkersannoystheshitoutofmeoxia.  Should the mattress coerce Mr. Helps into a temporary midday coma, the respite would ignite unused cells in his brain ultimately improving his work performance and allowing him to overcome the late day grogginess that so many IITYIHTKY Enterprises employees experience on a day-to-day basis (water cooler rumors have it).

I am in favor of supporting the healthiness of my entire staff and request that all official authorized superior managers do the same as long as proper documentation is supplied, not to include death threat notices.

In the event that further references are needed and/or necessary (in addition to Dr. McLeod’s recommendation), the telephone numbers of the below listed names may be provided upon request:

Please note that all below listed persons are dead so it may take a while to gather the information you seek [if applicable]. 

  • Winston Churchill
  • Napoleon Bonaparte
  • Albert Einstein
  • Leonardo Da Vinci
  • John F. Kennedy

Quote of the Week:   “A day without a nap is like a cupcake without frosting.”

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Same Sh*t, New Year: The Joy of Returning to the Office After a Long Holiday Break

Back to WorkIt doesn’t take long to get back into the swing of office hum-drum after spending days away of celebrating the Christmas/New Year holiday season. What makes me an expert in this truth is the return to the office, obviously.

As I sit at my desk sifting through piles of unfiled folders, past due email reminders, and pretending to be interested in my coworkers’ holiday fiascos, the one thing that sails the ocean of my mind is how much more of no real work I’m going to do than what I did before 2015 said goodbye for the last time.

I’m not going to return any emails today. I’m not going to check the voicemail messages that have my audix light flashing. I’m not going to contribute any comments to the first staff meeting of the year. I’m not going to file any folders. I’m not even going to pour hot coffee over the copier machine. I’m just going to sit here and continue to be paid to fill a seat behind an oak desk, the way God intended.

This list of nots is not to be confused with me not wanting to be here, because in all honesty I’m very glad to have returned. Being home on vacation doing nothing has a completely different feel than being at work doing nothing on paid time. I actually do miss my coworkers. I just don’t want to talk them. Same as last year. I also need a place to escape in order to prevent myself from drinking fully loaded alcoholic beverages for breakfast. …well I guess I can do that at work but contrary to popular belief that’s frowned upon. Same as last year. Go figure.

I guess when I think about it, my New Year attitude has only changed as it regards my personal life. For example when bill collectors call to hound me for a payment of a bill I have no intention to pay, I’m going to answer the phone and tell them I’m unavailable just like their phone number when the word unavailable pops up on the caller id.

Debt Collector

When it comes to work though, nothing’s changed. Same work. Same shit. It’s just a new year. If my memory serves me correctly (I’ve been told I suffer from CRS (Can’t Remember Shit) syndrome), I think I said this very same thing last year. With that said I don’t see a reason for me to rock the boat especially since I can’t swim.

On that note I’m going to go now. Line 2 is ringing although I’m not going to answer it. Instead I’m going to roam the halls in the event it’s an inside caller. That way I won’t be lying when I have to tell someone I wasn’t in my office when they called – coincidentally, just like I used to do last year.

Quote of the Week:   “You should check your email more often. You may have gotten fired three weeks ago.”

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Sometimes Playing Dumb is the Smartest Thing to Do

Let’s be honest. Playing dumb is neither fun nor easy. However we all have to do it for the sake of something. We all gotta work. We all gotta eat. And we all need some form of spiritual healing.

Take a look for yourself:

Office Fight

Your work family dishes out a different set of VIP rules for your colleague, who happens to have the same title as you and the same pay as you, but you’re not supposed to know that you’re given the short end of the stick.  You aren’t paid to think for yourself. That’s not expected nor written in your employee handbook, so what do you do? Simple. You play dumb until you find a new job or secretly manage to beat some [employment ] ethics and equality into your colleague and every suite mate that leads that colleague to believe their shit doesn’t stink. Violence succeeds where Human Resources fail.


Your church family writes notes about your colorfully tainted life while you’re singing a solo with the choir. You can’t condemn them to hell because somewhere in the bible that’s written to be frowned upon, so what do you do? You play dumb and wait until it’s time for the congregational prayer. Then while everybody’s eyes are closed, pour a few dozen Ex-Lax pills into the communion wine. At that point you can stop playing dumb and instead sit back and wait for the magic to happen. The magic will more than likely happen just before the devil’s personal chauffeurs arrive to carry your sinful ass to hell.  If you’re a little smarter, you’ll wait until church is over to cuss everybody the hell out, but noooooooooo. You’re not that smart. You have to play dumb and shit. At least this way you only indirectly interrupt the church service. That’ll prolong your trip to purgatory.

Pay up

What if someone confronts you about money you’ve owed them since elementary school? Remember that day you borrowed $.50 from someone to buy a Whatchamacallit some umpteen years ago? When you sunk your front teeth into that crunchy caramel nougat, you had no idea that thirty years later those same two front teeth would rot and fall out on the day you’d run into the then most popular girl in all of the 6th grade. What do you do now? Smile and play dumb, pretending you have a full set of teeth in your mouth. Wait. I take that back. Smiling would in fact be dumb. Not playing dumb. You’d be the talk of your 6th grade class, provided everyone in your 6th grade class is still alive, and remembers you, or care(s)/(ed) about you, or don’t have teeth of their own. What would be the chances of that? What do you care? You’re still playing dumb, right? Or is that a dumb question?


Your supervisor asks you if the color of her dress brings out the color of her eyes. Even though her eyes on a normal day are a soul-less black and her pupils completely disappear when it’s her time of the month, if you want to continue receiving paychecks with cute little smiley faces over each “i” in your name, you’d better play dumb and lie like hell when you tell her “yes, that beautiful dress almost hides the hatred in your eyes. I feel like I could smack you and actually get away with it.”

WARNING: Do not try this at home or in your wildest dreams. 

To tell you the truth, I could continue with this list of appropriate times to play dumb, but there is someone banging on my door, no doubt with a reason to question the paper bag full of dog poop that someone left sitting on their front door step. I may know the person that left the shit there. I may be the person that left the shit there.  But for the sake of my health and physical ability to walk – ahem RUN FOR MY LIFE – should a shitty situation arise, I’d better play dumb and act like none of this, this post or the bag of puppy poo, ever happened.

I swear, sometimes playing dumb is the smartest thing you can do.


A Letter to the Slave-Driving Supervisor

Dear Supervisor,

I think enough of my hair has fallen out for me to finally feel comfortable enough to tell you that I am frikkin overworked and stressed the hell out! Between the thousands of phone calls, emails, and unexpected deadlines; not to mention taking on the responsibilities of those employees who have been fired; are out sick; or simply too overwhelmed to complete their own assignments; I must admit that I rather like my hair and would like to keep it just a little while longer before old age takes the privilege away from me.

As if coming to work isn’t hard enough in itself, especially after having dealing with the hard blows that life can throw at you , I have to come into the office and fall behind in my workload to attend 3 hour staff meetings and sit through meetings to discuss what’s going to be discussed in the next meeting.

While my colleagues are freely attending extended 2 hour lunches, I have approximately 22 minutes to eat, digest and shit before the next emergency arises and my ulcer once again rips through the lining of my stomach. The bags under my eyes from lack of sleep are heavy enough to carry a load of nervous tension as I twitch uncontrollably and break out into hives when I hear your high heels stomping towards the entrance of my office. Hiding for the sake of sanity is my first inclination, however there’s no time permitted on my calendar, as poking my eyeballs out with a number 2 pencil has taken up all of what’s left of my free time.

I’m not writing this letter to complain about the 200% increase in work, the disrespect of those needy ass coworkers who only come to me when they require something while ironically forgetting my name, or the fact that the cafeteria serves yesterday’s coffee every day and always seems to run out of sugar when I’ve finally found enough energy to drag myself by the collar to the coffee pot. I’m writing this letter to you to say, “Help.” Help me to understand why my outstanding performance evaluation has omitted me from getting the change in job title, the slightly bigger broom-closeted corner office, or the pay increase to match the duties I’ve collected since the last 5 – 7 employees left the company. Help me to understand why our department rests on the top floor when studies show that people inflicted with heavy amounts of stress are inclined to jump out of a window in hopes to land in the middle of a busy intersection. Help me to understand why when it comes time to offer kudos, Jane and John’s names are the first to be called when I’m the one who scarred myself to write the proposals, the memos, the cover letters, the charts and graphs, the powerpoint presentations and even ordered the ink pens that they penned their John Hancocks with.

Even now, as I write this letter to you, I must cut my time short because I only have 37 seconds to run to the bathroom, pee quickly and get to the conference room for the staff meeting that I’ve only been invited to because someone is needed to carry the heavy boxes of reports that’s going to be passed out to the rest of the team.

It’s not that I don’t love my job, because I do. I just want to live long enough to appreciate and enjoy it and buy the donuts that my small paychecks can only afford. You guys are killing me slowly. I implore you – HELP!  Hire a temp; build another me out of match sticks and Elmer’s glue.  Hell, I don’t care! But pretty soon there’s not going to be enough of me to go around because I’ll be buried somewhere 6 feet under a pile of manila folders.


Your most humble, gracious and dedicated employee
with only ½ a head of full hair.


You have a call on line 2.


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Quote of the week:   “An ant on the move does more than a dozing ox.”


Some BS Smells Fishy, but that’s to be Expected

When we last met, I remember showing the world my backside as I ran away frantically from a job that scared the bajeezies out of me (granted, this could have been a dream I had last night with me quitting theatrically by mooning the president of the company while eating a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich and chugging a beer; but for the sake of argument we’ll just pretend this dream really happened). It wasn’t necessarily the job itself, though I wasn’t particularly a huge fan of working, but rather it was the people. People with issues bigger than my weekend ego after I’ve downed a few thousand Jello shooters and gotten the green light from the baddest bitch in the club to make a move that would seriously add credibility to my manhood; people that pay for extravagant lunches using money they should have reserved for public transportation; people who tell you they care as long as your workload puts them in better lighting; people who sleep with people that sign off on paychecks; people that eat lunches behind trash dumpsters in the back parking lot of the office building, only no actual food is consumed, but rather protein from another fellow human, or a human who’s no less labeled a canine; people who don’t know your name unless you’re wearing a name tag and a hairnet. You get my point.

This post is about people and the shit they bring to the office. People in the workplace that want you to believe you’re family – at least until 5PM anyway. And with that said, it’s those very people that tend to make the day’s potential for productivity and get-alongedness a completely unfunny joke.

Not annoyed

I don’t laugh when someone comes into my office and asks if I’m busy. What the hell did you think I was doing before you blatantly interrupted me? Do you know how long it took me to get this score on this Bejeweled game?

I don’t laugh when someone asks me if I want to have a meeting to discuss anything other than the lunch menu for the next day. Who the hell wants to meet about anything, ever? Do you want to punch yourself in the face for me? Fuq you and your meeting.

I don’t laugh when someone gives me a 30 minute deadline. That’s not totally true. I laugh because whoever has given me the deadline is under the impression that I’m going to finish doing anything in 30 minutes or less. If we aren’t talking about food, forget about it. Thirty minutes to me means “before you leave work for the day” …or “before you quit.” Whichever comes first.

I don’t laugh when my supervisor transfers her phone to mine. Seriously? As if I already don’t have enough people to blatantly send to voicemail.

I don’t laugh when I’m referred to as MR. UM rather than MR. THENAMEMYMOTHERGAVEME. No one generally remembers my name unless they need something. Now that I think about, I guess coworkers are more like family than I thought. I have a few cousins that wholeheartedly believe my first name is CAN I BORROW.

I don’t laugh when I see my laughable paycheck. Really, I don’t laugh. I cry.

I don’t laugh when there’s a disgruntled employee plotting to flatten the Human Resource Director’s tires. Well, maybe I laugh a little bit. That monster deserves to get his tires flattened.

The point is no matter who ignores you at work while wearing a plastic smile and a pinstriped suit, all of those laughable moments that I find so terribly unfunny fall under the category of SHIT HAPPENS. Between the hours of 8AM and 5PM (or whatever your working hours are) shit happens. Any and all working class citizens ought to be prepared for the unexpected bullshit that inevitably happens every day. And you know what? We can blame those “people” for that.

ALL members of the workforce should expect water cooler rumors; expect to have unseasoned green beans with their flavorless cafeteria-cooked macaroni and cheese; expect documents to be lost or unsigned or peed on.  Okay, maybe no one would expect to receive a document with pee stains on it, but like I said earlier – SHIT HAPPENS. Expect to have a petty office beef (especially with that one chick that thinks she’s fly as hell with her 2 ¾” stilettos that matches nothing she wears and encouragingly builds up the bunions on her feet); expect to have to work through lunch (which is the sole reason for always having a pair of boxing gloves in your briefcase). No lunch/Late lunch/Working lunch = FIGHT!

The moral of the story is SHIT HAPPENS, especially at work. And that shit is caused by those people who can so easily fuq up a good day. But instead of getting mad at the shit that happens in the office and pointing a finger at those responsible for it, the real question is why get upset when you expected all this shit to go down even before you left your house this morning? It’s not rocket science to assume someone in the office is going to unexpectedly piss you off. Truth be told, if no shit happens during any point of the day, well…I don’t think I’d expect that.


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