Step Up and Collect Your Keilbasa
Yup, I might as well play outfield for the Giants, being an SF native and dropping the ball like I did. Barely a week after my guarantee and I already fumbled the handoff, bricked the layup, got punched in the face (in a boxing match), and did something bad in hockey, like not beating my opponent's ass with a big stick, which as far as I can tell is what you're supposed to do in hockey. While I did not post on Friday because I had taken a vacation day, I have no excuse for not posting yesterday. I was in the office indeed, from 9 to 5 and then from 7:30 to 1 AM to finish up a heinous bit of accounting that needed completion for some folks in London this AM. Now, I'm sure my sympathetic customers will say something like, "Monty, you were very busy yesterday...." Well, that's true, I did have a lot of work to do. But there were still numerous unproductive time slots at work wherein I might have gotten my typing fingers up off of their asses (yes, my fingers all have wee little asses, it's a genetic thing) and dished out a serving of the gravy-laden meatiness all five of Monty's millions of readers are craving. Here are just a few examples of when I could have updated my blob:
1) The hour in the morning I spent sitting on the can in the bathroom stall, playing "Bejeweled" on my PDA.
2) The hour I spent looking at the lunch menu, agonizing over what to order.
3) The hour I spent after eating lunch, surrounded my the remnants of said lunch, searching desperately for something interesting to read on the internet.
4) The hour in the afternoon I spent sitting on the can in the bathroom stall, playing "Bejeweled" on my PDA.
As you can see, I am a model of workplace productivity. Of course, models of things are generally a lot smaller than the real thing, and so is my level of productivity much smaller in proportion to real productivity. To put it another way, a model of an airplane doesn't actually work like an airplance, and the same goes for a model of an employee. Though I look surprisingly realistic on the days I'm glued together right.
Bottom line, I let the hackey sack carom off of my idle midsection and tumble to the turf, causing a circle of smelly stoned youths to say "bummer." I made a promise and failed to live up to it, and can only hope you will be generous enough to not sue me for promissory estoppel. I am ready to deliver your keilbasa. The most efficient method of delivery would be for me to fax your keilbasa. This method will also ensure freshness, and discourage excessive bulging-out-of-the-sausage-skin (the Polish word for this phenomenon is bulgizskyalzya, a term which can also be used figuratively to describe the appearance of older Polish women who refuse to buy appropriately sized undergarments). So give me your fax numbers and expect your sausages with 3-7 bidniss daze.
~Monty
12:07:48 PM 
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