On the last day of Christmas,
Effie held a solitary Festivus
& aired her marital grievances:
Her hubby worked one day out of the year
& not only got plenty of free press,
but the marketplace was flooded
with his graven image
& the very idea of him
garnered even more impersonators
She was tired of him taking credit
for all the toys the rich gave their kids
& all the !@#$ he got from the poor kids
whose parents couldn’t afford anything
but socks, candy canes,
& random crap from CVS.
When she left his fat ass,
she experienced a little #MeToo movement of her own,
changing her name to Ms. Claws
(now free of Santa’s meaty paws).
When Santa became weary of his dead-end job,
having degraded into a fat squab,
he used his B&E experience to become a jewel thief,
which was a source of great relief,
until he was caught & made deader than a doorknob.
Rudolph had yearned for the opportunity
to participate in reindeer games,
with visions of playing with the nice list children
who tossed rings at his antlers
& frolicking in the forest green,
but when he was finally accepted,
he found out that his red nose
had suddenly been fetishized
in this all-boys club,
got more than he bargained for.
To: kconner, cmiller, wspencer, ccarnes, csimon, gjorgensen
Subject: Welcome back!
Though we may have entered a newer normal, I am certainly feeling the synergy.
Karen, regarding Project Blue Ball, let’s take this offline. Use this opportunity to knock this low-hanging fruit out of the way and circle back when we reconvene.
These are unprecedented times, but let’s take a deep dive, reach out, and stand in solidarity with our community to create a more inclusive (and less reclusive) environment.
Connor and Wyatt, I know you said you don’t have the bandwidth right now, but let’s put more thought into finding a thought leader to speak at the next “See and Say” meeting, which will be a real game-changer.
Chad and Carly, our newest change agents—just keep giving it 150% and taking it to the next level. You’ve brought some much-needed blue-sky thinking to the company.
And last but certainly not least, to our intern Gunnar, thanks for taking ownership and spinning your wheelhouse. Squeak, squeak!
At the end of the day, I think we’re all singing from the same hymnsheet. Let’s just keep pivoting and thinking outside the box.
When Señor Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious danced into a Boston tavern,
dandified in his seersucker suit & reeking of Jeris,
smelling like a member of a barbershop quartet,
he was labeled “that strange foreigner” whose name
no one cared enough to learn how to pronounce,
so he homogenized it to Mr. Super,
pasteurizing his accent to the milk-white of the 1%,
becoming the ideal American denizen.