The Morning Meeting: Episode 1

Ian and Adam throwing fistfuls of Funyuns at each others’ semi-tumescent penises. This is the sight I was greeted with when I walked in to office 223 for our first morning meeting. For some reason my first thought was “You’ll never get’em to slide down the shaft if you’re only rockin’ half a chub.” My next thought was, “Damn it.”

You see, this isn’t my first experience with these…ha, was about to say “men.” That would have been funny. No, we’ve been writing together for some time now. The major difference is that now we actually have an office, and we have funding; two things Ian and Adam should not have.

“Allow me to shower your wiener with salty snacks, fellow Funnycraver!” said Adam. “We must celebrate our triumph over—“

Ian cut him off with a fist of Funyuns to the testicles, “They swing!! 10 points!!” proclaimed Ian.

“You guys have added a scoring system now. I want to say, ‘How evolved of you,’ but we all know that isn’t true.” I said.

“Always with the buzz killing! It’s always, like, ‘stop with the Hungarian porn reenactments,’ or something as equally banal.” Apparently, Ian learned a new word: porn.  He used to call them “The Cream of Mushroom showgrams.”

Why I kill buzz

I sat down at the large oval conference table in the center of the room. At the table’s center sat a triangular speaker phone. Any second was going to ring and carry with it the voice of our boss, whose name we still don’t know. I have never met him, but his Emails are very…telling:

From: The boss man

To: Luis, the peon

Hey, what a coincidence! I was just thinking about you! What are the chances of us running in to each other in this Email I sent you? Like 1 in 3, right? Anyway, down to business. How much for a shot at your ample buttockal curvatures? You know, the ucrave network has its tentacles wrapped around every industry on the earths. If you scream, we’ll make sure no one can hear it.

Peace, man! Can’t wait till you guys start writing!!

I’m not even sure how I got this job seeing as these Emails are almost always made up of vague sexual innuendo, and faint hints at the true powers of the ucrave network. From what I’ve gathered, ucrave may be able to influence elections, choose which colors will be fashionable next season, cancel Joss Whedon shows, make Frankensteins, kick you in the testicles from anywhere in the world, throw a football in the future and catch it in the past, and run a chain of websites that make them seem like they are too incompetent to do any of that.

“Let’s be FUNNY! LUIS! You go first! Give me some funny,” said Adam.

Admittedly, I was not paying very much attention at this point. I was too busy not wanting to be there to realize that I actually was there. “I don’t think that’s how it works, you know, being funny?” I said.

“Lame. I’ll go first.” Ian said. He cleared his throat and sniffed his fingers. Adam blushed.

“Two Jews walk in to a Jewy church–”

“My God…” I said as I recoiled in horror.

Adam interjected, “Oh, oh! I know that one! Isn’t one of them all like ‘where’s the bagels,’ and the other is all like ‘money makes me Jew!’”

I’m pretty sure I said, “But that isn’t even a joke! And, it’s horribly offensive!” But I couldn’t hear anything over Adam’s high pitched cackle and Ian’s porky snorts. These are their laughs.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the bossman’s call?” I said. “I mean, he’s the one that will be guiding us in our journey threw high profile internet comedy, right?”

Adam stopped laughing. His eyes, cold. “You just misspelled ‘through’,” he said.

“What?” I said with a question mark at the end of it to signify that I had no idea as to what the fuck he was talking about.

“You just misspelled ‘through.’” Said Adam. “ I heard it…I heard it in your voice. Don’t Fucking LIE TO ME, BRO!”

“Yeah, don’t bro to him lie, fucking!” said Ian while he performed a dance that I can only describe as “gelatinous.”

The speaker phone rang. Adam yelled at it…which actually answered it, somehow.

“Work time!!” an excited Ian said. He plopped his bare ass on to the leather seat, causing a sound more akin to mayonnaise being swirled in a jar then to a human sitting in a seat. Ian then slammed both bare legs on the table; Funyun dust poofing off of his dick like it just performed some magic.

Funyuns, you may not want to eat them anymore

“Hey, everybody! Skibiddy-ba-di-ba-da!!”

That must have been Ian’s new “Hey, look at my dick!” announcement. He changes it up every few weeks to keep us on our toes. I want to saw my toes off.

“Nice dick!” said the disembodied voice of The Bossman. Adam then said, “Due process concordantly.” I believe this was the final remnant of a conversation Adam had about a month ago just now squeezing out. That or it could have just been Adam going in to business mode…or, perhaps he was going in to Sea Urchin mode. I don’t know. He has so many modes.

...and then there's Turbo Dog Mode

Ian then said, “…” rather loudly. I was amazed.

Whatshisname began his rousing speech to his comedy troops…

“Hello, Funny Cravers!” shouted The Boss. “Welcome to the orifice!”

I didn’t want to say anything for fear that I might get an immature response, but I hate it when people screw up words, “Don’t you men office?” I said as I didn’t want to say it.

The Bossman chuckled the chuckle of a man that only chuckles when he is being sinister. “Ha, yeah…yeah.” He said. “Psyche.”

Both Ian and Adam covered their mouths as they attempted to withhold their laughter. Something about it felt off; the laughing, the conviction behind our phantom boss’s words. The thought that I, in this office, may actually be in The Bossman’s ass crept in to my brain. Ice cold fear stabbed my heart as I looked around the room searching for anything that looked particularly ass-y. The room did vaguely smell of shit – shit that was never cleaned away; like it had simply been splashed with some Clorox and left to magically vanish, which it never did.

“Have you guys heard of comedy?” said The Bossman.

Ian said, “Of course,” while shaking his head “No.”

“Okay, good. Because I want you to do that.”

That was too stupid of a statement. I had to say something.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Humor, man. Humor. Humor is what binds us all. Black, white, Indian, yellow people with their untrustworthy slanty eyes—“

“Aw, Christ…” I shuddered.

“You guys really gotta bring the funny to the masses. You have to let everyone out here know who has the biggest, funniest dicks out there,” said The Bossman.

I noticed Adam write on his legal pad, “Article Idea: Funny Dicks. Note to self: make it smart and important to the world. ” He then looked off in to the distance. I knew right then and there that he had reached his thinking quota for the day.

Ian then shot up and recited the last 8 lines of the St. Crispin’s Day speech from Henry V. I think that even he was aware of how truly random it was. To save face, Ian then tried to fart, but just ended up popping a blood vessel in his nose and blazed out of the office, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

I walked out, tip-toeing around Ian’s chunky nose blood; leaving Adam behind at the conference table. I’m pretty sure he was in a thinking induced coma.