Chapter 12: Fun with Merriam-Webster

I'm always surprised in life when I find out something that I believe to be common knowledge, well... isn't. I'm sure we've all had those experiences, where you're standing around telling a joke, with everybody in the audience nodding in approval as the joke progresses towards it's climax. As you scan the crowd, you can always pick out that one person in the crowd who just simply isn't getting it. When the joke is over, they'll give you that half-hearted laugh, but their eyes will tell a different story.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

And it is here where I learned about some shortcomings in Spam Boy's education. It was time for me to give him his miseducation.

For you see, one day as we were discussing our favorite Saturday Night Live sketches of all time, the Colonel Angus sketch was mentioned. Of course, it was mentioned. It was one of the best things they've ever done in the history of the show. And it starred Christopher Walken to boot. It doesn't get much better than that.

Scouring around online for a copy of the video so we could watch it again and again from the comforts of our cubicles, we turned up nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch.

Bummer.

A few minutes later, my friend Ryan tracks down a transcript of the sketch. This relieves the pain slightly, as it is still a funny read, but it's just not the same as watching it acted out. I mean, I can imagine in my head as the cast works their way through those oh-so-tricky lines, but to hear the way they pronounce "Colonel Angus" over and over again in their southern accents... well, you've just really got to see it for the full effect.

Nonetheless, I laughed out loud upon reading the transcript. Spam Boy swings by my cubicle to ask me what all the fuss is about. I tell him it's the Colonel Angus sketch from SNL and ask him if he's seen it.

"No, never heard of it."

"I'll send you the link... you'll enjoy it."

So I email him the link to the text. I can hear him in the next cubicle over reading it to himself.

No reaction.

Five minutes later, he's back in my cube with the following assertion:

"I don't get it."

"What???"

"I don't get it. What's so funny?"

"Oh.... do you not understand what 'Colonel Angus' means?"

"Ummm... no."

Now I'm in an awkward position. Like the first time I had to ask somebody what "69" meant and why it was so funny when the teacher would mention that number in class.

Not wanting to cause a big scene, I simply write on my white board,

"Colonel Angus = cunnilingus"

and wait for the recognition to wash over him.

"I still don't get it.", he says.

"You mean you don't know what that word means?"

"No."

"Well dude, I'M not going to tell you. Why don't you look it up on Merriam-Webster's site?"

Spam Boy retreats back to his cube. I can hear him furiously typing away, trying to find the answer to his query. After he types it in and hits enter, I can tell that he finally understands the joke.

"Ewwwww.", he says.

We all fall out laughing.

It was in a similar fashion that we had to describe to SB what a 'taint' was. This one was not my fault, at least not to begin with. Apparently, his web site had been hacked by this group called "Rebellious Fingers". And when I say his "web site", yes, I mean the one with all the Sonic the Hedgehog crap on it (See Chapter 3).

They had wiped out his front page, and left a message in it's staid. I wish for the life of me I could remember exactly what that message said. But the one memory of it was that it had the word 'taint' in it. And not as in to 'contaminate morally'. Even Merriam-Webster was not going to help with this one.

Spam Boy comes out and asks me:

"What's a taint?"

(Here comes the patented response...)

"Dude, you don't know?"

"No."

"It's the part between your testicles and your anus."

"Ewwwww."

Funny how they both evoked the same response from him. Maybe it's just because he doesen't know some of the more risque stuff. I guess if you're just never exposed to it, you never have a reason to know. Anyway, he knows now. And I'm sure he won't forget anytime soon. As a matter of fact, I still remember when I finally found out the answer to that "69" question.

"It's when one person has fish and the other has a hot dog."

"Ewwwww."

Chapter 11: Grazed Anatomy

With the recent heat that's on James Frey for his book "A Million Little Pieces", I decided to take the time to put a disclaimer at the beginning of this chapter. IT'S ALL TRUE! I wish I were making this shit up. When Oprah has me on her show to discuss her latest book club entry, I will be able to confidently say "Yes, I once saw Spam Boy pump his fist so hard during a basketball game that he fell down on the court."

So there, that takes care of that. Now on to business....

Over the course of my interactions with Spam Boy, I've had to consult on a number of medical issues. The experience was kinda like being Spam Boy's own personal WebMD.

"Let's punch up Mr. Wolan on the WebMD report, and... oh my God, is that an injury to his....."

Yep, the wanger.

I don't even remember how this conversation got started, but one time when I had (let's say) blacked out and wandered into SB's cube, I heard the following:

"I was out yesterday because I had to get a pee-pee probe"

I turned around and walked away. Well, not really, but part of me wishes I had.

"Excuse me?", I replied.

"Yeah, I had to get a pee-pee probe.... I was having blood in my urine."

"Sweet Lord!"

"Oh yeah, I've also had anal fissures."

I don't remember anything after that.

In a way, I'm torn. I guess I feel flattered that I'm being opened up to like that. He must have felt comfortable going to me and telling me this. Surely this is a good thing right? But whoo-boy, is that too much information. Out of the blue no less! Somebody has to give me some sort of warning when something like this is coming up.

And so it would happen from time to time that Spam Boy would come to me with a medical issue.

One time, I was rocking out to some music in my cube while staring intently at an Excel spreadsheet. I hear a knocking on the wall behind me. (Side Note: My cubicle location sucks. It always has since I started working here. I have an uncanny knack of being put in high traffic areas where people stream by behind me all day long, whether it's on the end of an aisle or right by a major conference room or hallway. I've moved cubicle locations several times now and every time, it's the same thing, despite my pleas to the contrary. Over the years, it has made me very jumpy when I see somebody walk by in my periphery.) I turn around and when I see SB signalling me, I jump a little bit.

"What's up?", I asked.

"I keep stabbing myself in my hand with my mechanical pencil.... is that bad?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. Why do you keep stabbing yourself with your pencil?"

"I don't know. I just keep stabbing myself in this same spot. (showing me the injury)"

"Well maybe you should stop that."

(End scene.)

Wow. Now I'm no doctor, nor do I play one on TV. But I can't imagine it's a good thing to jam yourself in the hand with a lead pencil repeatedly. I didn't even ask what he was doing that caused that scenario to happen repeatedly. Juggling maybe? Tossing it up in the air and trying to catch it? Writing so hard that not only does the tip break, but the remaining portion of the pencil flips around and stabs you in the hand? Having one hand deliberately stabbing the other one, like something out of the movie "Body Parts"? The possibilities are endless.

To prove that I'm not just making this up, I have another scenario for you in which I have a witness who would testify in a court of law that this happened. My friend Todd and I were both looking over some very critical business information (i.e. the results of the company "March Madness" Basketball Draft) when Spam Boy interrupts us and gets my attention.

"What is it, Andy?", I asked.

"Do I look unusually tan to you?"

"Um, no.... why do you ask?"

"Well, I'm on this antibiotic and one of the side effects is a change in skin coloration."

"Nope, you look fine to me."

"Okay, thanks!"

Todd and I look at each other in amazement. Spam Boy was the best at dropping one liners on me. I'm just glad somebody was there to confirm I wasn't crazy when it happened.

Get well soon, Andy!