Sometimes I don’t know what to think. Or I do, but ought not to.
One of the customer-service types wandered into the shop yesterday to advise me that yet another idjit had failed to comprehend the corporate Web form as the saying goes, even if you make it foolproof, you can’t make it damnfoolproof and since it was already a bad day, I went into Full Spew Mode, Stage 2. “How hard can this possibly be?” I said. “Every half-hour, it’s ‘I just don’t know what went wrong!’ It’s like our target market is Derpy freaking Hooves!” (In Stage 3, “freaking” is replaced by, um, something else.)
The guy over in the corner working on the broken printer came up with the most enigmatic smile just then. Oh, yeah, he knows.
Addendum: A particularly incisive post by Roberta X on the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomenon drew this comment from the estimable LabRat:
I’ll give Fifty Shades this much, it’s an absolutely hilarious instant personality test in female-dominated social circles. I have not had to keep my teeth locked to my tongue so hard as when the subject went around the Roller Derpy league ever.
Roller Derpy? But of course.