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To begin this post, we need to show you this photo:

These knobs are on the wall of a room in Tartarus. The right hand knob is the air conditioning. We've never given much notice to the left hand knob. Until today. Today we noticed that the hall outside of that room was quite cold. It turned out someone had cranked the air conditioning knob to the max. They had also turned the other knob. And it was ticking. And we couldn't figure out what it was doing.

Mystery knob

As you can see, the knob is labeled "OC". After much speculation, we've decided this must be the Tartarus self-destruct knob. AKA the "oh crap" knob.

As in, "Oh crap, I just set the self-destruct"

 

Weren't expecting that, were they?

Special Speedy Delivery

Sometimes we learn too much about our coworkers' personal lives. Like the Mosquito. Mosquito has a boyfriend who we call Mr. McFeely.

You remember him

And we call him Mr. McFeely because he shows up at least twice a week with a bag of some kind of food for Mosquito.

Today, as per the pattern, about twenty minutes after calling Mosquito on a work line, Mr. McFeely showed up with a bag. "Oh," exclaimed Mosquito after McFeely had left, "that was so nice of him. And so unexpected. Mr. McFeely never brings me lunch."

What could we do? We stared blankly at the Mosquito for a minute, then walked away before we could say anything rude.

 

It's Mo Monday!

It's a scene out of any number of horror movies. You move into a new house and discover that there's an open crawl space under it. You hear a scrabbling noise that you investigate. You figure it's maybe a skunk, a raccoon, or at worst a rat. Then, right before it eats you, you spy the monster.

Absolutely horrifying

We think our monster is the most terrifying of all. If you saw Mo under your house you'd be lulled into a false sense of security. "Only a squirrel," you'd say to yourself with a chuckle. Then he'd eat your face.

That's Opie logic

Opie is in charge of a number of weekly events at Tartarus. Because putting the idiot in charge of everything makes sense, apparently. If we told you everything stupid that Opie does during these programs we'd never talk about anything else. We might as well rename this blog Opie on the Death Stare or something. What happened today, though, is worth repeating.

Opie came into the staff lounge shortly after the program was meant to start. "Aren't you supposed to be in your program," asked Spoof.

"Oh," said Opie, "there was just one person there and he was new so I didn't do it."

To make matter worse, minutes later another person arrived for the program but Opie had already moved on to something else and was not available to run the program. AND when we looked later, Opie had recorded that one person on the official attendance record in spite of never actually doing the program.

because everything makes sense to Opie

Jimmy Duck joins us for lunch

When you look in a refrigerator there are a handful of things you expect to see. A brown paper bag, a tupperware container of salad, maybe a takeout box. These things are normal. Now, if you open the refrigerator at Tartarus you will see none of those things. This is what you will spy:

Not only are there two lunch boxes in there (and we've checked. One of them has one of those blue ice pack things in it), there are two purses. PURSES. Who packs a lunch in a purse?

Ewww! Not on my lawn

Today's Stuff Out of Context line is:

I found the turtle and the muffin kissing at my house.

 

Happy Blogiversary! part 2

Here's hoping this year is as hilarious as the last.

Happy Blogiversary!

That's right. Exactly one year ago today we brought you the very first story of insanity from Tartarus. To celebrate this momentous occasion, we thought we'd share with you a very special Mo photo.

It doesn't look like much, but these are the stairs that helped to inspire the name of this blog. It just seemed right to take Mo for a visit.

We've enjoyed sharing the insanity with you this last year and hope to do it several years more.

It's Mo Monday!

Did you ever play King of the Hill as a kid? There was always one kid, bigger and meaner than everyone else, who dominated. He'd shove you down without hesitation. We couldn't help but think of that when we snapped this picture.

Undisputed King of the Hill

That's one squirrel we wouldn't dare challenge.

Super important, apparently

Like most places, Tartarus has a Lost and Found. Ours happens to be two boxes tucked away under the desk, helpfully labeled "Lost and Found" with fancy signs. Because apparently the boxes that had been there pretty much since the beginning of time that had "Lost and Found" written on them with marker were confusing for Shoes. But we digress.

This is the way we usually handle a found item (if Shoes or the Hutt are watching): item gets a label on it that at least has the date on it so in four months (or whenever Shoes feels like doing it) old items can be removed and thrown away or whatever.  We're also supposed to initial said note but we refuse. Cause that's dumb. Put item in box unless it looks particularly valuable or too tiny in which case it gets tucked in a drawer for safe keeping.

This is the way we handle a found item if no one is looking: stuff item in box and forget about it.
 
Sometimes, if the item seems like something that the person will immediately miss (cell phone, jewelry, etc) it gets taped to the desk so we see it. The reason we're telling you all of this is so we can show you this photo:

As you can see from the note, this button has been taped to the desk for a week now. It is about the diameter of a pencil eraser. We suspect it's like a collar button or something. Why in the world do they think this is important? If someone really needed it, they'd have asked for it by now. As far as we're concerned, lost buttons don't get saved at all. Lost buttons are trash.

 

Who didn't see this coming

Last fall we told you about Pinky, the woman who likes port-a-johns. We haven't mentioned her in a while because things with Pinky tend to follow the same pattern all of the time. Finally, though, we have a new Pinky story worth sharing.
 

Oh, happy day

The other day Pinky introduced herself to Fanta (probably for the sixth time since Pinky never remembers introductions). Of course, by introduced herself what we actually mean is that she stared at Fanta and said, "What's your name."

"I'm Fanta. I'm here for the summer," said Fanta.

"Your name is Santa," said Pinky, perplexed.

"No, Fanta. Like the soda."

"Santa? Like Santa Claus?"

"No, Fanta. With an F."

At this point, Pinky turned to Spoof. "Her name is Santa Claus?"

What could we say to that?

This seems like a likely future scenario

A nasty surprise from Spoof and Speck

Cause that makes sense

Apparently all of the summer crazies have arrived. You probably don't remember last fall when the woman carried a tv into Tartarus in order to retrieve the DVD inside (because she'd forgotten the case). Well, today we met her perfect match. Let's call him Mr. PC.

'member them?

Mr. PC came into Tartarus today and asked about using our internet with his computer. WiFi, we assumed. This is perfectly acceptable. Then he left, which was a little weird but okay. When he came back in, Mr. PC was carrying a DESKTOP computer. Tower, monitor, everything. Ummmm.....

"I don't have internet at home," he said when he noticed all the odd stares we were giving him, "and my machine is in desperate need of an update."

What else could we do? We set him up in our meeting room with his computer and left him to do his updates. And spent the rest of the afternoon staring at him on the security screen.

It's just so weird.

 

It's Mo Monday!

You get home from work and reach into your mail box for the assortment of bills, magazines, and Netflix discs that await you there. Then -SNAP- you suddenly find yourself down one hand. What's to blame for this torture?

 

You guessed it

It would seem there is no end of places for Mo to lie in wait.

Another one bites the dust

First, let's pause and all sing along. (You know you want to)

Last year, we told you about a character we called Tempy. Then Tempy sold her house and moved south. This spring, we got a new Tempy. This one has lasted 3 months and has now tendered her resignation. We never even got the chance to tell you about the very first Tempy, the absolute first person to fill the newly created position, who worked at Tartarus for A WEEK before quitting. We were told Tempy #1 "couldn't handle the software" and had to leave. Really? What's so hard about Excell?

Now, we don't blame these people for leaving. We wouldn't want to work that closely with the Hutt either. We just wonder how long it will take the Board of Directors to realize that we have a serious problem if we are going through staff at such a furious pace.

They've got to figure it out soon, right?

Worst superhero team ever

There's this family that comes into Tartarus often. they're like the worst superhero team ever. Let us explain.

Dad is Captain Screen-time. Heaven forbid he should ever look up from whatever device he's carrying.

Like this, but worse. Because of who his kids are.

The older boy is the Attention Hog. Everything has to be all about him, exactly how he wants it, all of the time. Don't you dare give someone else your attention if he wants it.

Everyone's favorite self-centered chipmunk comes to mind

Then there's the little one. The Hellion. Matter Eater Lad's demon spawn cousin. The very first time we met these people we looked at the little one and agreed, to quote Jeff Foxworthy, the little one is not right. In the time we've known them, Hellion has:

• thrown 2 tantrums
• licked a piece of chalk
• ate a frozen paint cube after being told twice "don't put that in your mouth, it's paint"
• smeared glue stick on his face, hand, shirt, and the table then licked the remaining stick
• sucked on a marker tip
• bit open a bingo marker, spilled the ink on the carpet, got said ink all over his hands, and left inky handprints on everything he could reach

Hellion is in elementary school and certainly old enough to know better. He just doesn't seem to want to try. 

Add horns and a tendency to randomly spazz out and you've got some idea of what being around this kid is like.

Blueberry in the engine, banana in the caboose

This week's Stuff Out of Context takes us out riding the rails.

The line is:

Now she's riding the muffin train, too.

We had a hard time deciding between this and a train made out of muffins.

What is "the job"

Ever read something and find it so mystifying that you read it repeatedly and still find it confusing? This is a regular occurrence at Tartarus. 

One specific instance that comes to mind is the board survey. You may recall last fall when our board of directors promised to help us then betrayed us like Benedict Arnold. All that really came of that whole mess was a stupid survey that they've made us repeat twice since then. The survey in question is utter nonsense. The questions are leading at best and impossible to answer at worst. Our personal favorite is the following:

    In the past six months, the director gets the job done.

What in the great googily moogily does that even mean? It's become something of a catch phrase. "The Hutt gets the job done." Whatever "the job" is.

Still trying to work this one out.

It's Mo Monday

Mo seems to be a master storyteller. We snapped this photo as he related a tale of high seas adventure to a captive audience.

Of course, now it occurs to us that this may have been an elaborate ruse in order to lull people into a false sense of security so he could eat them. You never know with Mo.

An exciting new offer from Stare Co.

Do you have a neighbor who always parks in front of your driveway? A coworker who constantly railroads you? An aunt who just never shuts up?
 

Can't take another minute

You've tried muzzles, shock collars, and tranquilizers. It's time for something new.

Try Poops-in-Boots, the ninja monkey from Stare-Co. This feces flinging simian is guaranteed to stop even the worst nemesis in his tracks. Simply point out the offender and Poops-in-Boots gets right to work. Whether it's stealth dung tossing, dropping barrages, or payload deposits, Poops-in-Boots puts even the most persistent person in his place.

Don't be fooled by that innocent face

Want to quit a bad job in style? Leave a poop-flinging monkey behind. Ask about our permanent placements.

Crikey, that croc's hungry

Believe it or not, we have brains

We don't claim to be geniuses, but we like to think we are relatively competent. Why then do our coworkers insist on explaining every detail of our jobs to us? Jobs, we might add, that we have been doing for several years now.

We are not this dumb.

Today's particular culprit was the Zebra. There is a particular aspect of our jobs that he doesn't deal with much, so last week we explained that procedure to him. Today, dealing with the exact same procedure, he explained to the two of us exactly what we needed to do, no matter how many times we told him we know how it works. Not to mention the fact that he was doing it wrong. 

We didn't quite yell at him like this, but it was a close call