Never sleep because sleep is the cousin of death.

The office potluck. Our hands were going from plate to mouth to plate so fast we looked like a fucking magic trick. Fucking goddamn fuck. People around here know how to cook. Our job often causes us violent visceral stomach reactions, but not due to the vittles. No, the vittles are choice. Jerk chicken jerk fish? Got it! We brought the Harold's. 2 buckets of Fried catfish and hot sauce. Other delicacies:

-Green pepper and ranch dressing pizza. We know it sounds scuzz. Trust. We could eat a whole one ourselves in about 5 minutes if left unattended.

-Mashed potatoes layered with cheese, chives, sour cream, bacon and more cheese.

-Taco salad that tastes like the entire menu from Taco Bell in a 12x12 tray.

-Homemade tiramisu and cheesecake.

-Five different kinds of "real" pizza.

-Crazy good Mac & Cheese with the bread crmbly things at the top that we like.

-Green Bean and Campbell's mushroom soup casserole with fried onions.

-Collard greens slow-cooked with onions and pig neck

-Cornbread.

You see, we work with black folks who know their soul food. We only hang with people that shop at Moo & Oink from now on. Not to bag on all you fellow honkies out there, but do not bring that weak shit to the office potluck. Sushi? Are you fucking kidding? Does this look like the Breakfast Club around here? Do you see Anthony Michael Hall giving Emilio Estevez a reacharound in the copy room? Is Molly Ringwald auto-fellating a flare gun under the bosses desk? Leave the coldcuts and mini-sandwich and stir-fried rice with pineapple and pine-nuts (??) at home for the family dog and the two year old to choke theyselves with. It just takes up room on the table that could be available for the vanilla pudding with wafers and the chocolate chip cookies as big as salad plates!

Four v. full plates and an ice-cold Budweiser into the lunching hour and we are ready to crawl into the corner of the confrence room and cry.




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