Which I guess means all of my co-workers have completely forgotten about the existence of this blog or just don't care about reading it. It's kind of freeing in a way, because now I feel like I can just write about anything that happens here without fear of reprisal.

So:

Mr. Brockie was convinced, for reasons no one ever really understood, that Tickle Me Cap'n was going to be the hot toy last Christmas. This despite the fact that it's been AGES since the Tickle Me Elmo toy that it was obviously ripping off was the hot item. Also, while Elmo was a cute and cuddly fuzzy monster, Cap'n Wacky is a surly old man with a disturbing lazy eye. Also, the plastic used to make the toy was so cheap that it gave off fumes that burned off people's nose hairs.

So the cost of manufacturing millions of these future land-fill residents, added to the cost of advertising the heck out of them (which I don't really need to tell you if you were watching television, reading magazines, or visiting a public restroom last December) means we took a serious bath on this. It was not the biggest surprise of our lives when Dolly Saunders announced another round of layoffs at the start of the year. We even had to shut down seven plants-- three real ones and four which only existed on paper for tax purposes. While she was making this announcement, Mr. Brockie was vacationing at his Ostrich ranch in Wyoming.

So people are crying and packing up their cubicles and wondering where they're going to find another job and this is when my boss, Gary Newbrunswick, the V.P. of public relations, decides to start advertising that he needs a new secretary. This from a guy who is supposed to be good at smoothing over troubling publicity. Real sensitive, boss.

So the resumes start coming in, and I notice they all have pictures included. Not exactly normal. I look up the ads Gary placed and I see they say "resume must include headshot." I cannot even believe this. Further research indicates the ads were placed on the anniversary of Gary's last divorce. Coincidence? I don't think so.

Worst of all is, I kind of like Gary despite him being sort of a creepy shmuck, and I can already see this is going to lead to trouble for him. Real trouble. And despite my concern for him and my intense feeling of foreboding, I can tell you this: I'll keep you posted.

Oh, and head mailroom clerk Gordy Schwartz asked Gary if he could give him
the photos of all the rejected applicants, which is just creepy.

I think everyone has forgotten about this weblog. I'm pretty sure that none of my co-workers read it anymore, if, in fact, anyone ever did. I think I'll test this theory by publicly airing the dirty laundry of several of my co-workers. If I don't hear from anyone about this, I'll know I'm just a tree falling in the forest over here.

COMPANY CO-PRESIDENT, MR. WHITE
All the stories you've heard about Mr. White being a tough boss and a bit of a mean-spirited S.O.B. are completely true, but here's something else that I've also heard is true: Every Monday afternoon he watches the Judy Garland vehicle "Meet Me In St. Louis" alone in his office and every single time he ends up sobbing like an orphaned kitty.

COMPANY CO-PRESIDENT, MR. BROCKIE
Mr. Brockie is confused by the "five second rule" that states food accidentally dropped on the floor can still be eaten if it's retrieved within five seconds. He heard this rule once and has somehow misinterpreted it to mean that all food should be placed on the floor for five seconds before being consumed. So he does this. All the time. Watching him eat a bag of M&Ms starts out being hilarious before moving to heartbreaking and then finally just annoying.

VP OF PUBLIC RELATIONS, GARY NEWBRUNSWICK
Keeps his mustache clippings in hermetically-sealed baggies in the storage space in his condo. Hopes to one day make a Gary-stache sweater for a special lady friend. He's stored enough for at least 7 sweaters, but is still looking for the special lady.

HUMAN RESOURCES HEAD, DOLLY SAUNDERS
While apparently entirely free of any discriminatory tendencies based on race, religion, gender, or really even qualification, Dolly does have irrational fear and hatred of freckles. Apparently, while she knows this isn't actually true, she can't help but feel that freckles are contagious and that if she hires someone with an excessive amount of them, they'll eventually migrate to other employees until everyone here is sporting spotting faces until they finally come for Dolly herself. Also, I think she believes the freckles control their host-body's mind.

MAILROOM CHIEF, GORDON "GORDY" SCHWARTZ
As a boy, Gordy appeared on the album "Schlomo Rosenbaum Conducts Little Singing Momzers" as lead tenor on "My Yiddishe Momme." You can still find copies if you really look, they have one hidden in the mail room that they take out and play when Mr. Schwartz has the day off. It started out as a joke, but they found his voice so heartbreaking that now they just love listening to it.

MR. BROCKIE'S BODYGUARDS, ROCKO AND TINY
Like everyone else, Rocko and Tiny have forgotten which of them is which.

LOADING DOCK MUSCLE/THUNDER GOD, THOR
So gay.

SECRETARY TO THE PRESIDENTS, RANDI VA VOOM
Has told several co-workers that she's only pretending to be dumb and ditzy so that she can take notes on Mr. White and Mr. Brockie's behavior and one day write a scorching tell-all book about what it's like to work for Amalgamated Humor. Further investigation reveals she probably really is just dumb and ditzy.

OK, that ought to be enough to do it. If I'm still alive and working here in a month, I'll know for sure none of my co-workers are still reading this. See you in February (maybe).

According to the seating chart, I'll be stuck between Zonar and Marcy Hansen, the cafeteria lady. I don't know, I'll miss the family getting together, but, like Mr. Brockie always says, we're like one big family here. Then, Mr. White usually mumbles something mean under his breath and smirks, just like Uncle Norman, so I guess it is kind of like the old family Thanksgiving, after all.

Speaking of Mr. White, I had an odd thing happen last week. I was working late, around eight or so and heading out, when I noticed the light was still on in his office. I thought I'd stop in and say goodbye for the evening-- it never hurts to be polite-- when Mr. White just sighed sadly and said, "Carson, have you ever had to make a tough decision?"

I was a bit surprised- I mean, with all the stories and what I'd seen of the guy day to day, I was amazed that he seemed to be confiding in me a bit, heck, even showing emotion at all. I hesitated a bit and told him about the time my old hamster Tippy was sick when I was a kid and how my parents let me make the decision whether or not to have him treated or put to sleep. I even found my voice catching a bit as I told the story.

Well, after a pause, he started laughing hysterically and saying I was a huge wuss for having a hamster for a pet in the first place and why would I feel sad about snuffing a glorified rat, anyways? I just kind of let myself out of his office while he was having his laughing fit and went home and drank myself to sleep.

The next morning, there was a big wheel of cheese on my desk and an e-mail had been sent to the entire company, telling everyone to be extra nice to me because I'm "delicate about the mice." Also, Mr. White had fired fifty people.

Sometimes, I don't like it here so much. Hopefully, the holiday party and Secret Santa deal next month will go a bit more smoothly.

Look, it's Nicole Kidman! I had just gotten my courage up to introduce myself to her when she suddenly realized that the silver dress she had wrapped all over her body was really our alien advice columnist/movie reviewer, Zonar the Superion. She didn't take it well, but Zonar's buddy Merlin Olsen thought it was hilarious. That's my finger in the foreground. So embarrassing.

Amalgamated Humor co-president Brodie H. Brockie with his date, a woman he paid to have extensive plastic surgery to make her look like starlet Natalie Portman and date him. He almost got away with it, but the real Miss Portman (a former flame of Cap'n Wacky himself) was also in attendance. The ensuing catfight was the highlight of the evening for me.

That was certainly more entertaining than the real entertainment hired for the evening: Fire archery tricks performed by local Boy Scout and Cub Scout troops. I think I'm not supposed to write very much about this.

And finally, here's Amalgamated Humor Co-President RJ White confronting guest William Shatner about taking the entire shrimp plate away from the buffet table. All in all, a fitting tribute to the first five years of capnwacky.com

Whatever, I've only been here a couple months. I was just there to gawk and the celebrities and for the free meal. I think Shirley McClaine was kind of giving me the eye.

After banning all sweets from the cafeteria and vending machines, Dolly learned that lots of employees were smuggling in snacks brought in from outside the office. So, not only did she institute a ban on outside food products, she had the robot guards reprogrammed to scan employees for sugary foods as they entered the office each morning. An additional mandatory workout session was added to each lunch period; time subtracted, of course, from the lunch hour and not form work time.

And who does everyone blame for Dolly's fitness fascism? Me, of course, all because I happened to make that remark about it seeming like I had several over-weight co-workers during my orientation a few months ago. I've tried to be apologetic, I've tried to be friendly, but nothing works. I'm the office pariah now.

I suppose there's some hope, though, after yesterday.

It was about 3:00 in the afternoon when it happened. I was in my cubicle, proofreading a press-release explaining why Amalgamated Humor would no longer be using certain chemicals in our dribble glasses any longer when I first heard the sounds.

The first sound might've been a distant thunder.

The second was a high tingling sound of bells with a metallic twinge, playing a happy tune. It was a sound familiar from the summers of my youth. It was the ice cream truck.

I wondered for a moment at how I could be hearing it so clearly so deeply into the corporate headquarters, when I suddenly heard the third sound: the sound of anarchy.

I stepped out into the hallway and so my co-workers, each sunken into a frenzied, bug-eyed madness, tearing at their clothes as they raced down the halls. I followed, I think out of mere curiosity. Or had I joined them in their madness? I'm no longer sure.

We reached the main entry hall where we found the source of the merry bells. An official Amalgamated Humor Ice Cream Truck had been driven into the building, straight through the front entrance, smashing down the door frames and removing big chunks of the walls around it. The front end of the truck had been crushed in by the impact. The driver, Judy Marbles (who looked as though she must've lost a good 75 pounds at least in recent months), was standing on what remained over the front hood, holding aloft a triumphant bomb pop.

"Sic semper tyrannus!" she shouted and shoved the entire bomb pop into her mouth. The maddened throngs cheered as she pulled her hand back, revealing only an empty popsicle stick.

My throat suddenly hurt. Why? My God, I was cheering as well!

And so my newly-strong co-workers fell on the truck en masse, tearing the metal double doors in the back right off their hinges. Fudgicles, push-ups, Cap'n Wacky Pops, creamsicles, ice cream sandwiches, Zonar bars, and drumsticks were all flung out to the crowd by the first people to get to the coolers.

Most tore madly into their treats, gorging themselves on the forbidden delights. I saw webmaster Eban Floyd rip off his shirt and smear a fudgicle all over his chest. I can't even repeat what I think I saw Marty Lurnlin doing.

And, then, suddenly standing out from the Bacchanal, I saw Dolly Sunders herself, desperately trying to shove two ice cream sandwiches into her already full mouth at the same time. Our eyes met for just a moment, hers were full of tears.

There was no official announcement, no memos were sent, but we all knew not to show up for the work-out session this morning. The vending machines had already been re-stocked with our old sugary friends by the time we arrived. On the cafeteria menu for today: sloppy joes, pizza, or corn dogs. For dessert: freedom.

Here are some of the new office nicknames for your humble blogger, Mr. Carter Winslow:

1. The Health Nut, which has evolved into:
2. Macadamia
3. Richard Simmons
4. Dr. Atkins
5. Dr. Asskins
6. Dr. Asskiss
7. Slimfast
8. Farter (which is just making fun of my name, I think, and not like I haven't heard that one before! Way to come up with the same clever put-down as THIRD GRADERS, geniuses!)

And these, of course, are just the ones that I'm hearing.

But enough, for now, about the health program thing. I'm sick of thinking about it. Fortunately, my supervisor, Gary Newbrunswick, never reads business-related e-mails. I think Gary actually uses e-mail pretty much the opposite of normal people. Anything anyone sends him about work is either deleted unread or just given the most cursory of glances, but the spam he reads. He reads almost every piece of spam e-mail he gets very closely. I'm starting to think maybe Gary has some problems that he's hoping the spam might be able to help him with. I'm not going to guess what it might be.

So anyway, Gary is still talking to me. I was chatting with him the other day about how I'm excited about the new Spider-Man movie coming out in a couple weeks because I used to read a lot of comics when I was a kid. And then Gary says, "Oh, you know who you might be interested to meet then? Thor works in our loading docks."

So I think he's joking, right? I'm thinking there must be some muscle-bound blond dude working down there that everyone calls Thor behind his back. But no. We go down there and there he is, The Mighty Thor. He even has the hammer hanging from his belt.

Here's our conversation (CW= Carter Winslow, me. GN=Gary Newbrunswick. T=Thor)

GN: Yo, Thor.

T: (Sets down big box full of cans of Fart Spray) Hail, Friend Gary. What brings you to the underworld that is the loading docks?

GN: Oh, I wanted you to meet my new assistant, Carter Winslow.

T: Well met, young Carter.

CW: Uh.... Hi. Nice to meet you.

(At this point we shook hands. I braced myself for him to totally crush my hand, but he was surprisingly kind of limp. Maybe he was just trying not to hurt me, I guess.)

GN: Busy down here today?

T: By Odin's beard! We're busier today than Hogun the Grim at a frowning contest.

(silence)

T: How about busier than Volstagg at an eating contest?

CW: Ha ha. Oh yeah! I get that one.

T: YES! Very mirthful! HA HA!

CW: Ha ha. Volstagg.

T: For he is fat!

GN: Yeah, so anyway, Carter was talking about how he was looking forward to the Spider-Man movie, so I thought he might want to meet you.

T: (stops smiling suddenly) Oh.

GN: Yeah, he really liked the first one.

T: It was OK, I guess.

CW: What?

T: Oh... nothing.

CW: You didn't like it?

T: No, no. It was good. Sam Raimi doth treat the source material with the reverence due fair Sif herself, but... sigh.

CW: No Thor movie?

T: No Thor movie. By the pounding feet of FIN FANG FOOM, there is even a Deathlock movie in pre-production!

CW: Who?

T: Exactly! Spider-Man, Daredevil, the Punisher, that stupid Hulk all get movies! Blade gets three movies! Now they be preparing the Fantastic Four, Man-Thing, and Ghost Rider!

CW: Really, Ghost Rider? Sweet!

T: But what of The Mighty Thor? I single-handedly repelled the invasion of The Lava Men, and yet now I must punch yon clock every day and haul crates of plastic vomit. I AM BETTER THAN THIS! I AM A TRUE ASGARDIAN BORN!

GN: Aren't you here because your father is making you learn humility?

T: Thor is better than all these ridiculous characters! Who wants to gaze for two hours on the twisted maw of The Man Thing when they could be looking at the chiseled and pleasing manly form of The God of Thunder? Look at my flowing locks of golden hair! Am I not the most attractive man your mortal eyes have ever beheld?

CW: Uh...

T: OF COURSE I AM! CURSE YOU, FATHER!!!!!!! Spider-Man is not fit to shine my helmet!

GN: OK, Thor. It's OK.

T: And how he treats his woman! Just get over yourself and take her, you foolish mortal! Thor would not hesitate to please her!

CW: Mary Jane? I think he's afraid some bad guys might come after her.

T: BAH! Send the Absorbing Man! Send an army of Skrulls! None would stand in the way of Thor getting some!

GN: OK, well we've got to be getting back to work now.

T: You want a real man, Kirsten, come on down to the loading docks!

GN: OK, goodbye.

T: I shall let you lift my hammer, sweet maiden!

GN: Say goodbye, Carter.

CW: Goodbye.

T: THOR IS THE SWEETEST PIECE OF MAN MEAT IN ALL OF MIDGARD!

(We leave.)

GN: He's going to be working here forever.

CW: At least until Ragnarok.

GN: What?

CW: Never mind.

Here's the text of the e-mail:

FORM: DOLLY SAUNDERS
TO: ALL AMALGAMATED HUMOR CORP. HQ EMPLOYEES
SUBJECT: Let's get healthy!!!

Hi, gang!!

I was recently chatting with new employee Carter Winslow (Gary Newbrunswick's new assistant in the PR department. Stop by and say "hi" if you haven't met him. He's the young man driving the blue VW Rabbit if you see him in the parking lot). Carter mentioned he was a bit alarmed by how many of his new co-workers here at Amalgamated Humor are grotesquely over-weight (maybe not his exact words, but that was the point).

I'm sorry to say I had to agree with Carter's assessment, though at the time we both took an "oh well, what can you do?" attitude about the whole thing. I've been thinking about it during the last month, though, and decided that maybe there is something I can do after all!!! I've cooked up a little plan and had it approved by Co-Presidents Mr. Brockie and Mr. White (on the condition that they are exempt) and am pleased to announce the beginning of the MILF (Mandatory Improved Living Focus) Program.

You'll notice several changes around the office already. All sweet and/or fatty foods have been taken out of the break room vending machines. Say goodbye to Snickers and Skittles and Ho Hos and Whatchamacallits and say hello to soy bars and dried yogurt cubes and unflavored rice cakes!!! Even the sugar for coffee is gone!

Starting tomorrow, we'll also have a ½ hour workout time at the start of each work day! Some days we'll do power-walking, some days we'll do crunchers, some days we'll push ups, and so on. Every day we'll be making ourselves fitter (and happier too!!)! Mr. White wouldn't let this eat into regular work time, so we'll be adding this (mandatory) half hour to the start of each day. See everyone at 7:30 tomorrow!!

I'm very excited about this!! Soon we'll all be happier, more productive, more attractive, and maybe Judy Marbles will even live to see her 35th birthday!!! Maybe Burt Lawson in Accounts Payable will finally be able to get a date!!

To kick things off, you'll see I've placed an apple on everyone's desk! Eat healthy! And remember, I'm not the only one to thank for it. Young Carter Winslow inspired it all!

healthily yours,
Dolly Saunders

By the time I returned to my car at the end of the day it was completely covered in bird crap. Why bird crap? Because there were so many birds on it all day. Why so many birds on it all day? Why, they were eating all the apples that had been smashed all over it, naturally.

This is my first job straight out of college, so I don't really have anything else to compare it to. Dolly assures me that it's fairly standard business procedure to give two days vacation after one year and then five days after five years. I guess I was more surprised that company health coverage is a special plan that only covers work done by one doctor, a Dr. Helmut Flimminhoffer and he's only available for appointments on Mondays since he spends the rest of the week pursuing personal scientific breakthroughs.

Dolly promises me this is also the sort of thing you would find at most companies of a comparable size. I suppose she would know better than I.

We got the official paperwork and contract signing out of the way in about 15 minutes and spent the next hour or so gossiping about our co-workers. Dolly has files on everybody here so she knows pretty much everyone's secrets, and she loves to share. For example, mailroom chief Gordy Shwartz is terrified of left-handed people and thinks they are out to murder him because of some article he wrote in the 60s. Marty Lurnlin in accounting listed three parents in his health form. Dolly assumed that one of these had to be a step-parent or something and pressed Marty to just identify his two biological parents. Marty responded that he had always been told and adamantly believed that all three of these people contributed to his conception and biological makeup. Dolly decided not to press the issue any further.

When Dolly told me that Ice Cream Truck drive Judy Marbles was once seen in the cafeteria eating from a plate that only contained two pounds of solid butter, I remarked that I was surprised that this even drew anyone's attention considering how many people in the company are alarmingly overweight. Dolly nodded in agreement and said she thought maybe something ought to be done about it. Still, what can you do?

Anyway, I just got out of the meeting a few minutes ago. I think I'll head down to the mailroom and try to shake hands with old man Shwartz using my left hand. Dolly says this will freak him out so much that he'll only wear teal clothing for two weeks and wash his hands 12 times an hour, both of which are somehow intended to protect him. Dolly is kind of fun.

On Monday it was announced that it was time for mandatory employee flu shots. I asked Mr. Newbrunswick what the point was of doing this since the cold and flu season is at least past its peak, if not completely over. He explained that Amalgamated Humor Co-President Mr. White always likes to wait until this time of year because the shots are a lot less expensive. "It's like Christmas shopping after Christmas," he explained.

Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought this was crazy. Gary tells me that several other brave employees complained about this to Mr. White too. Of course, he fired them all, but he also said to make up for such late shots he would make sure we got extra large doses.

So as a result, most of the company is very sick right now.

I'm sure the Tuesday cafeteria lunch of creamed corn didn't help, as I'm told it generally makes a few people sick whenever it's served anyway, but this time it really kick-started some trouble. A couple people got one of those violent surprise tap you on the shoulder kind of sudden vomit explosions right there onto their cafeteria trays, which at least slowed down most of the rest of the company from eating much more.

I'm not sure how much that helped, though, since over the course of the rest of the day you could start to hear the sounds of people reversing the normal flow of food through their bodies. By 5:00 the smell of puke seemed to permeate every corner of the building.

Zonar, of course, found this hilarious. He didn't get the shot and would be immune to puking anyway since his alien 100% efficient biological system means he only eats atoms and produces no waste. Normally the green monster keeps to his office since he hates us all very much, but on Tuesday he was everywhere, racing around from room to room hoping to catch people just as the urge to hurl seized them. I'm not sure which was more horrible: the constant puking sounds or his maniacal laughter. For this week, he's stopped calling us "poop machines" as usual and has replaced it with "puke production units." Such a class act, that guy.

Wednesday half the company called in sick, Thursday it was three quarters.

Today, hardly anyone is here. Mr. White and the other president, Mr. Brockie, are both in. Apparently neither one of them actually took the "mandatory" flu shot. Gordy Schwartz the head of the mailroom is here as well because, as Mr. White said, "nothing will kill that old bastard." Mr. Newbrunswick is out sick, which surprised me since I thought that he had also avoided the flu shot. Maybe it was the bourbon he started in on at 3:00 yesterday before he had even left for the day.

Honestly I'm not feeling in tip-top shape myself here. I probably should've called in sick too, but I haven't been here long enough yet to get paid sick leave and I'm also afraid to call in so soon into my employment here. Oh man, my stomach. Oh no. Nope. Here it comes. Why am I still typing? I should be running to the bathroom! Here goes...

Oh man.

And here's Zonar. Yes, yes. It's hilarious.

One the one hand, Mr. Brockie sprung for a truckload of Pazckis in celebration of Fat Tuesday (I haven't seen any of them get passed out yet, but they must be coming. I mean, it would be insane to think he might be keeping them all to himself as I've heard some of the other employees joke).

On the other hand, in celebration of Mardi Gras, head mailroom guy Gordy Schwartz has been walking all over the building with a neckfull of cheap plastic beaded necklaces and encouraging female employees to earn them "New Orleans style."

I just don't know what to make of this place yet.

This morning I was receiving orientation from Mr. Gary Newbrunswick. He's my supervisor and the company's vice president in charge of public relations. Apparently he had some stress-related um, health issues, late last year and this managed to convince the company to get him some help. I don't know if I should really get into it here. I mean, they told me not to hold anything back, but I don't know how much they meant it. OK, let me explain:

I was in Mr. Newbrunswick's office while he was explaining his creative approach to how to use the company's health care flex spending account when a man burst into the office and shouted this word: "BLOG!"

The man, it turned out, was company co-president Mr. Brockie. He had a conversation with Mr. Newbrunswick that went something like this:

Brockie: Blog!

Newbrunswick: Good morning, Mr. Brockie.

Brockie: Yes, yes. Gary, blog!

Newbrunswick: It's very early still, sir.

Brockie: Gary, you know what the kids on the web-net are all hot about these days? Blogs! All the popular websites are blogs in which bloggers blog on their blogs about their lives. They hold nothing back, Gary! That's the key.

Newbrunswick: Right. Weblogs. I've heard of them.

Brockie: No, Gary. Blogs! Blogs! I saw something on the radio about it last week, and then I notice it keeps coming up in conversations and TV and stuff: blogs! Don't you see?

Newbrunswick: I think I'm missing a piece.

Brockie: Capnwacky.com needs a blog! That way we'll be hot with the kids, like The Spice Girls!

Newbrunswick: Well, sir. I'm sure we could get someone to set up a blog for you to write.

Brockie: Oh, no no. Not ME, Gary. I'm a busy man. I have a company to run here, I have a paddleball tournament to practice for, and with the wedding coming up I have no spare time. YOU do it.

Newbrunswick: Me, sir?

Brockie: Yes! Gary, get ready to blog!

Newbrunswick: I have a great idea, sir.

Brockie: About blogging?

Newbrunswick: Yes, sir. I think for the kids to really relate, we should get someone young to write the blog.

Brockie: Like a baby? Brilliant!

Newbrunswick: Actually, I was thinking my new assistant here could do it. He just graduated from college. He's... how old are you, Stuart?

Me: Carter.

Brockie: That's not an age. That's a map-maker.

Newbrunswick: Sorry, Carter. How old are you?

Me: 23, sir.

Newbrunsick: See?

Brockie: Well, he's no baby, but he'll do in a pinch. Can you blog, Carson?

Me: Uh...

Brockie: Hey, Carson. It's OK. I believe in you. You know that?

Me: Uh...

Brockie: Awesome. That's the can-do attitude you kids are famous for. Blog it up, blogger! Don't hold anything back, either. Tell the blog everything! Keep it the real.

Me: The real?

Brockie: Yeah! Keep it the real, dude!

Me: Uh...

Brockie: OK, I'm off on a donut run. Don't tell the boss!

And then he left. And now, apparently, I am a blogger. And here I am, blogging. There were times I wasn't really sure where 17 and ½ years of education were going to take me, but I never expected this.

Welcome to Amalgamated Humor. My name is Carter and I'll be your blogger.