The illusive office orgy / Jonathan Candy

I leave work the other day. It’s a little after 5:00. I’m one of the first ones out of the office. I take the elevator down, walk through the lobby and out the doors. I’m about half-way to the subway when I realize I forgot something. Gotta go back. I re-enter the building. Wait for the elevator. Take it up to my floor. And as the doors open I couldn’t help but think to myself - What if they’re all having sex?

What if, right after they saw me leave, all my co-workers started fucking each other?

It’s not that I’m a paranoid person. It’s just something about the people I work with. . . I sincerely think they’re screwing each other’s brains out when I’m not around. "Alright guys he just left. Drop your pants and whip out those titties!"

I assume the first thing I'll see when I get off the elevator is Tracy from accounts receivable and Frank from the mail room 69ing it up on top of the reception desk.

Of course when I return everything is how I left it. Heads glued to computer screens. The occasional phone ringing. I slowly return to my desk being careful to look for evidence recent debauchery - untucked shirts, tussled hair, hastily cleared desks and the like. I see none.

I grab my dildo and take the elevator back downstairs.

Farewell, office chair / Lynette Peters

She wasn't eating. She was hungry but she wasn't eating. She had to be hungry because he had ruled out the other possible reasons a baby would cry. She couldn't be tired because she had just woken up from a nap 5 minutes ago and she couldn't have a dirty diaper because he had just changed her 4 minutes ago. She had to be hungry. It was time for lunch anyway. It was time to eat. But she just sat there in her high chair whining. It was fucking pears and apples for Christ's sake. Her favorite. What could possibly be the problem here? Each time she'd seem to settle down he'd offer her a bite and she'd turn her head at the last possible moment and slap her hand at the tiny spoon. Mashed fruit flew. C'mon. He could do this. Feeding his own child simply had to fall into the category of things he is capable of doing. His wife would be home any minute. He could do this.

The frustration on both sides quickly mounted. She, with the spoon being shoved in her face and he, with the spoon being shoved back in his. He finally finagled her into accepting a spoonful and she promptly spit it out and screamed. That did it. Frustration begot rage. Rage then boiled and bubbled over, demanding destruction. He got up from the chair and walked to the other end of the room in a last ditch effort to quell the impending manifestation of annihilation. All hope was lost when his eyes fell upon the old office chair. He had found it on the sidewalk several years ago, apparently being discarded. When he brought it home his wife wasn't as impressed as he'd anticipated. "It's a little big, don't you think? And what are those stains?" Both valid points but an office chair they needed and an office chair he'd found. Now he starred at in at noted it's plastic legs. He recalled carrying it into the apartment years ago and remembered it's weight - light enough to carry but heavy enough to need to be set down carefully.

It would do nicely.

His daughter let out another unprovoked scream and he lifted the old office chair several feet off the ground and slammed it back to the floor, shattering its plastic legs into more pieces than ever would be found. He immediately felt better. Looking down at the obliterated chair felt like a bucket of cool water being poured on his fiery head. Unfortunately the act had the opposite effect on his daughter. The loud bang had propelled her into a genuine fit of panic. She was hysterical now, probably more scared than hungry. Now with his wits back about him he quickly devised a plan of what to do. He'd bundle her up and take her for a walk. The change of atmosphere would do them both good. Yes, that surely was the right move at this point. Enough demolition work for one day - back to being a dad. Just as he was fitting her leg into the snowsuit his wife walked through the front door. She saw the uneaten food and the tears streaming down her daughter's face.

"Is everything OK?"

"She won't eat. I was going to take her for a walk."

While the reasoning sounded just, there was a crack of desperation in his voice that gave her pause. She picked up her daughter, instantly calming her as only a mother could. It was then that she noticed the broken pieces of plastic scattered across the floor.

"Did you break the chair?"

"Yes."

With that he rose, methodically picked up the chair pieces, and carried them outside to the curb. She fed her daughter her lunch.

Nothing more was ever said of the matter.

Ball touch / Doug Lamp

So I realize we just met a few minutes ago and this might sound crazy, but I can't help but think that we're forming a pretty deep connection here, not to say that it's going to evolve into anything of an intimate nature mind you, but at the very least I think it's safe to say we share a mutual platonic admiration. Agreed?

Good. I thought so.

Then as mutually platonic admirers of each other I have a modest favor to ask of you. A favor that would only require a moment of your time and a mere fraction of effort on your part.

I was wondering if you would please touch my balls. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hold on. Wait a minute. I can see from the look on your face that you're misinterpreting my intentions here. It's nothing sexual. It's nothing perverted. In fact if you think about it, it's nothing more than the skin cells and nerve endings of a finger briefly making contact with the skin cells and nerve endings of a bare scrotum. Nothing more.

No cupping, fondling, or juggling required. Seriously.

Right. You just have to touch them. Just one actually. Just for a split second.

No, it doesn't have to be here at the bar, although it could be and it might be easiest. We could go into the men's room or go to your place if you would feel more comfortable there. Hell, we could go to the zoo to do it for all I care. Or the hotel across the street. It really doesn't matter. I'd just like you to touch my balls.

Because I'm asking you nicely, that's why. Listen, I think you're making this into a bigger deal than it really is. The whole ordeal would honestly take about five seconds. Two seconds for me to unzip my fly, another two seconds for me to unleash my balls, and one more second for you to reach down and touch one. Then it's over. Kaput.

Still hesitant? I can tell. Let me ask you this. Would you have a problem touching the back of my knee? How about the roof of my mouth? What would you say if I told you that more people have touched my balls than my kneeback and mouthroof combined? It's true. So it's really not that big of a deal or anything. People touch my balls all the time. Not just sluts and queers either. I'm talking about well respected people with good jobs and impeccable hygiene. I politely ask them to touch my balls, they do so, and then we return to whatever it was that we were doing - eating, yachting, watching television, having sex, or just chatting like we are.

What's that? No you cannot wear a glove. Good question though.

Trust me, as weird as it may sound to you, it would be even weirder if you didn't do it, considering how NOT of a big deal it is. It's not like I'm asking you to drive me to the airport, help wash dishes, have sex, or co-sign on a loan. It's a simple matter of momentary sack contact.

Just a tap is all.

And heck, if the mood strikes you, feel free to take off your shirt. . . and maybe stroke my knob. Whatever feels right to you. . .

Whadya say?

The dead leaves on the dirty ground / Fran Klingerhaul

From the looks of it no one else had been there since the previous night's snow fall. In front of him laid a wide expanse of rolling hills and tree-lined paths, all covered with a blanket of undisturbed snow. The site of his breath made him realize that he hadn't exhaled since he'd halted at the park's entrance, as if the air he held in his lungs might somehow contaminate the pristine landscape before him. He puffed out a few more big breaths and watched them disappear into the cold air as he entered the park with the crunch of his right foot.

Each tree, limb, and small branch carefully balanced a full inch of snow. It was as if they were hiding from the sky beneath the white powder, being careful not to drop a single flake lest they be spotted from above. He couldn't help but notice that the park had never looked so open, so simple, so clean and inviting. His steps turned into long strides and his strides turned into a light jog and his light jog then turned into a full out sprint as he soared across the vast expanse of uniformity that the snow provided. He pondered his worries no more and happiness filled his heart. Once exhausted he stopped and crouched down to catch his breath, his eyes still squinting from the brilliance of the snow and his cheeks aching from his grin that spread from ear to ear. Then he saw it.

It was a piece of dog shit.

There was no telling where it had come from. There were no tracks leading to or from. Yet it sat there demanding to be considered. He scooped a handful of snow over it in an attempt to rid it of site and mind but the act itself exposed a small piece and black and barren earth below. Then it all started to unravel.

The site of the filthy ground made him realize how fragile and temporary the snow cover was, that a mere five degree rise in temperature would not only obliterate the beautiful blanket, it would also transform everything beneath it into a damp and dirty clusterfuck, a cold mess of dead leaves and decaying branches and bitter ground that was not so unlike his cold mess of a life so he picked up the dogshit with his bare hands and mashed it in his fists so it oozed between his fingers and he wondered now why he didn't realize before now how bitterly cold it was outside and and how he'd never amount to anything in this realm and how snow is a sham because it only falls when the world is shivering and depressed and alone so it's no wonder people hold it in such high regard because their moral is low and they are so easily entranced by this fickle savior from above which in reality is a charade of white hope that creates misery underneath it's glorious coat before leaving us in May with a pile of muddy muck and unpaid phone bills and rotting animals and unreturned phone calls. . .

Passersby came upon him several hours later, huddled on the ground underneath a tree, gently kicking its stump, partially covered in snow from the branches above.

"It's all dog shit" he was muttering to himself, over and over again.

zeroth life lesson: anything that melts when you touch it should be considered with care before loving.

Quick mental checklist / Donald Sowald

OK. Time to go. . .

Got my wallet? Check.

Got my keys? Check.

Phone? Check.

Adequate shoes? Check.

iPod? Check.
Gum? Check.

Hair look OK? Check.

Lights? Check.
Cupboard? Check.
Refridgerater magnet? Check.
Cleaning supplies under the sink? Check.
Surge protector? Check.
Grocery bag (paper)? Check.
Grocery bag (plastic)? Check.
Tuxedo? Check.
Frying pan? Check.
Encyclopedia set circa 1975? Check.
Unmatched sock? Check.
Keyboard? Check.
Jump rope? Check.

Seat belt? Check.

Eyeglass repair kit? Check.
Wicker basket? Check.
Generic tube? Check.
DVD of "Tears of the Sun" starring Bruce Willis? Check.
Chicken wire? Check.
Map of Eurasia?
Small intestine? Check.
All-you-can-eat shrimp? Check.
Rainbow? Check.
Doing the robot? Check.

Smell of bacon in the morning? Check.

Trip to the zoo? Check.
Truth serum? Check
Hymnal? Check.
McDonalds' 'Over 8 Billion Served' sign? Check.

Moxie? Check.

Gymnasium? Check.
Asian American? Check.
Unfinished basement of the house I grew up in? Check.

Complicated system of levers and pullies? Check.

Ricky Henderson? Check.
Helicopter? Check.
Daylight savings time? Check.
'The News' from 'Huey Lewis & The News'? Check.
Saber-toothed tiger? Check.
Merger between Burlington Coat Factory and the C.I.A? Check.
Trigonometry? Check.

Weather? Check.

Lewis and Clark expedition? Check.
Walking in on parents having sex when I was 8? Check.

Ego? Check.
Id? Check.
Curvature of spacetime? Check.

Wormhole? Check.

Molecular breakdown and reconfiguration? Check.

and I'm off!

The drunk girl who thinks she's Jesus / Javier Bonbardo

There's a girl who lives down the street that has a drinking problem. She's in her late teens, early twenties. Her dad kicked her out of the house and she now lives in the modest guest house in the back which is nothing more than a glorified tool shed - enough room for a bed, a television, and piles of dirty laundry and empty vodka bottles.

I know all this because everyone in town knows this. Every couple days the screaming episodes resonate throughout a 4 block radius.

"Jenny, when we said you could move out here it was under the condition you'd keep the place clean. Pick this shit up!"

"It is clean. It's clean in spirit and it's clean of the lies and corruption that tries to seep through the cracks whenever you or one of your cronies come knocking. Leave me the fuck alone!"

Things usually escalate from there. Threats are tossed to and fro. Ultimatums are given. Chairs are thrown. Sometimes Jenny's mom shows up. Sometimes the cops are called.

It's the talk of the town.

Jenny thinks she's Jesus. Well, not Jesus exactly, but she claims she's the daughter of God. She often parades the streets, naked, clutching a piece of paper with scribbled numbers, symbols, and figures. She claims that it's all so simple. She claims that seven plus seven is fourteen which is a one and a four which represents the relationship between the one God and the four elements of the mind which are self consciousness, pain, pleasure, and time. She claims that infinity strikes when we realize tomorrow is bullshit. She claims that we're all fucking morons. She claims a lot of other stuff too, much of which I can't make heads or tails of, not to say that it's not well thought out. The neighbors watch her from behind the curtains and shake their heads. They send their children up to their rooms and suggest they watch television for a while. Then they call each other to exchange voices of reason and reassure each other that she's evil.

"I don't care how old she is. They aught to lock her up and throw away the key."

"Sally told me that when she does happen to show up at school she won't sit in one classroom. She spends five minutes in each one, spits on the floor, and moves on. That's just not right."

"I heard her father had to take out a second mortgage on his house to help pay for rehab, and she got kicked out after 3 1/2 hours."
"Thank God our children are involved in sports."

No doubt she's a terrible drunk - a troubled and stupid kid with a lot to learn. With some professional help and counseling she may actually come to realize that there's more to life then the here and now, and that in order to get by in this world you need to concede to certain societal norms. You got to love your dad, eat a good breakfast, and study your times tables.

But then again, maybe she's Jesus.

zeroth life lesson: never be too busy to take a minute out of your day to listen to the guy on the corner dressed in tinfoil. at least hear him out.

You be the judge / Belinda Willows

Can you match these popular judge shows with their cases? Try today!

A. Judge David Young: 12:00 & 12:30; UPN B. Divorce Court: 11:00 & 11:30; UPN C. Judge Hatchett: 12:30; Fox D. The People's Court: 10:00; UPN & 4:00; Fox E. Judge Mathis: 2:00; WB F. Family Court with Judge Penny: 1:00 & 1:30; UPN G. Judge Karen: 1:00 & 1:30; WB H. Cristina's Court: 1:00 & 1:30; Fox I. Judge Alex: 2:00 & 2:30; Fox J. Judge Joe Brown: 3:00 & 3:30; Fox K. Judge Judy: 4:00 & 4:30; CB

1. Faye says she hired Felicia to create an original patch for her motorcycle jacket and promised to have it ready for Faye’s big motorcycle rally. Faye claims Felicia sewed the patch on upside down and has pictures to prove it. Felicia claims the patch was nothing more than a turquoise circle and circles can't be upside down. Faye says it was supposed to be aqua and yes they can. 2. James says Marie was a “horrible” housewife who did not like to clean house and he is tired of picking up after her. Marie says James isn't even her husband - she just met him five minutes ago and he asked her to follow him for free cake. She's countersuing for cake. 3. Don is suing his younger brother Reginald for medical bills incurred in a fight over who was responsible for Reginald's broken leg. Don says he did it. Reginald said he did it himself. Don started the fight by striking Reginald with his crutch, breaking his leg. 4. Erika is suing her cousin Scott for money she says Scott stole out of her purse. Erika claims that not only did her cousin steal from her, but has slandered her name and caused her to have health problems! Scott claims that the child isn't his and is willing to take a lie detector for some reason. 5. Lilea is suing her late husband, David, for late rent payments. She is tired of his freeloading ways and wants it to end once and for all. David is neither her tenant nor alive. A lease and death certificate are submitted as evidence. 6. Barb is dragging her former friend Belinda to court claiming she locked her out of their apartment and threw out all her belongings. Belinda says she simply changed the locks after Barb said she was moving out. Barb says she wasn't moving out, she was going to see 'Movin' Out', the Billy Joel musical. 7. Kenneth claims his estranged wife Shelly sold many of his personal belongings including his wand, parasol, and night vision goggles in a yard sale after he revealed that he is gay and ended their 23-year marriage. Shelly responds that the wand is make-believe, the parasol is ineffective, and that the night vision goggles were a gift. 8. Jeffrey says he was attacked by Gloria's dog while dropping off a magazine that was delivered to his house my mistake and is suing for medical bills and lost wages. Gloria says her subscription to 'Better Homes & Garden' was not renewed so the magazine should have never been delivered in the first place. She has proof. 9. After missing McDonald's breakfast by 6 minutes, skipping lunch due to a meeting running long, and burning his microwave popcorn after waiting for 45 minutes for his Chinese takeout, Doug and is suing Time. 10. Cynthia is suing her ex-boyfriend Eddie for an unpaid loan, a computer, and a massager, claiming that he conned her into giving him all these things while he was lying about other woman AND his real identity! Eddie argues that he was always honest with Cynthia about the other women in his life and that his name is Glen. 11. Andrea is suing Hyman, her ex-boyfriend and father of her son, for the value of her cell phone which she claims he broke during a heated custody dispute on Mother's Day. Hyman's name is ridiculous. So is the shirt he decided to wear today.

Answers: A3, B8, C7, D10, E2, F6, G1, H11, I5, J9, K9

Changes afoot / Oliver Chantel

Dear loyal reader(s?)-

As the calendar flips so does the scheme of this precious little website. Don't fret. I'm right there with you. As far as adverseness to change is concerned, I consider it one of my primary shortcomings (along with adverseness to flossing and adverseness to finishing magazine articles (both of which will be dealt with in subsequent years)), but with the new year comes a new attitude. You see, change can be good (groan). OK, change can be the catalyst to progress (gag). Fine, change can be 41 cents which is a quarter, a dime, a nickel, and a penny!! (uproarious applause). OK then! Glad you are on board.

So, with that said, ZFFAS will institute the following changes effective immediately:

- the site will no longer be updated every weekday.

I'm going to scale things back a bit. You'll be seeing new posts twice a week instead of five. Granted this will result in 60% less opportunities to make you think, smile, cry, or waste your time, but with the drastic cutback in content will come an (fingers crossed) equal escalation in brilliance. For a wise man once said something regarding quality and quantity. That man is probably dead but I assume his funeral was adequately attended.

- entries will no longer be accompanied with picture of words I deem interesting.

Gone are the days of a picture of a cauldron, an abacus, or a parasol. In 2009 you'll get a picture of a person. This is some dude named Oliver.

Why the changes, you ask? Because 2009 has a lot in store for team zeroth beyond pictures of tapioca and short stories of bear maulings. Things in store include but are not limited to:

- building a better website (goodbye blogspot, hello wordpress?)

- finding a bigger apartment (the growing baby and dog have me regulated to the corner where we keep the dirty laundry and roasting pan)

- working on a movie script (google 'rich zeroth swollen head')

- start working on a book (gulp)

Do the tasks listed above warrant a radical shift in ZFFAS's format? Am I just being lazy? Will you continue to check back on my latest musings, stories, and absurdities? That all remains to be seen. I hope the answers are a resounding yes, no, yes.

Keep reading, start commenting.

rz