Depending on your country of residence, the amount of vacation time you get per year and the gods you worship, you've quite possibly just spent the last 10 days off work. And now, as the morning dawns on the 11th day of your vacation, something feels amiss. You have an unsettling feeling that something is wrong in the world, as if the universe has gas. Concerned, you immediately visited Cracked.com, which has grown to become a spiritual guide to you over these years. And that's where you found this guide ...
What's wrong? Why do I feel so uneasy?
You have spent most of the past 10 days in the embrace of gravy-based meals and liqueur-filled chocolates, which has done no favors to your body or soul.
That rings a bell, but I don't recall having enough of those to do that much damage.
There's also the matter of New Year's Eve and the volumes of white liquor you ingested.
No, there's something else. Something bigger than that. I feel like I'm forgetting something.
It might have something to do with it being 11:30 in the morning on Tuesday, January 3rd, and how you should have been at work for several hours now.
Oh crap. Ball crap.
Exactly. Though scientifically improbable, "ball crap" describes this situation precisely.
You think this is going to be a problem?
You're already on thin ice with this particular employer. Although good at your job, you often don't do it. This past fall you didn't come into work for three days because there were leaves on the ground. During meetings, you have accidentally insulted every single race on earth, each one on a separate occasion.
Even the Lizardfolk?
Surprisingly, yes, you have also insulted the Lizardfolk.
I believe you said that they talked too much in movie theaters.
So I'm screwed then?
Oh no. It's highly unlikely the Lizardfolk even exist, and if they do, claims that they secretly run the government are certainly exaggerated. You should be fine.
No, I meant that I'm screwed because I've missed work again.
Oh that. Yes, but also not entirely. We should be able to get you back in to work with a minimum of damage. Compared to some of our previous misadventures, this should be easy.
I'm pretty sure my boss will notice if I just walk in there three hours late.
He will. Which is why you're not going to walk anywhere. You're going to crawl into the building, keeping low to the ground to avoid being seen. Camouflage will also help. Do you have a suit covered in swatches of carpet?
You really should.
Forget it. In that case, just get dressed in regular work clothes, biased toward anything which is the same color as the carpet in your office.
OK, I'm outside the building with kind of a blueish-gray, pilled up sweater.
That's awful and fantastic. Now crawl on in there. Let me know how you're doing.
Ow. It's a real long way and now my knees hurt.
Well suck it up. Did I tell you this would be easy?
Yes. You said exactly those words. "This should be easy."
That was from my perspective. Giving you advice was going to be easy. Good God you're self-involved.
Isn't this guide supposed to be about my problems, not yours?
Due to the subservient nature of our relationship, my problems will rapidly become your problems, so you should be more mindful of them. Now then: Are you at your office yet?
Your office. When you get to your office, slowly close the door, then get to work as if nothing happened.
I don't have an office.
Is it like a cubicle?
No, it's kind of an open-plan office.
So what? You're just crawling on the floor beside your desk? With like a dozen people staring at you?
Hello? You still there?
Still here. Just thinking. Hooooooooooooooo.
I'm just going to try working now and see if anyone says anything.
Too late for that now. You crawled in to the office like a dog. Someone's going to say something.
Dogs don't crawl.
Like a baby then. Or a baby dog. Like a puppy.
Puppies also don't crawl.
Puppies are, in every measurable way, better than human babies.
Wow, check out the motor-genius. And yet you don't know how calendars work? Who's the advice column here?
Right. And who's the failure-pile sitting on the floor of his office, knowing things about puppies and not much else?
Correct! So with our roles reconfirmed, here's what we're going to do: You're going to have to act like you have an inner ear infection. Like it upsets your balance and you have to crawl everywhere now.
How would that happen?
Tell them you got it during your holidays when you got some undercooked roast beef in your ear.
I'm not telling them that.
You have to. Otherwise they'll think you're crazy.
OK, but why wouldn't I just take a sick day if I had that?
I ... what? You can take sick days?
Yes. Of course.
And you didn't think to tell me that before?
Isn't it pretty common knowledge?
Evidently not! Well shit, yeah, just take a sick day then.
Do you think they'll buy it? I did just crawl into work several hours late, wearing a sweater that looks like carpet. They might be a bit suspicious. I don't think I could look any more suspicious.
Are you dragging yourself along the carpet using a pair of dildos like ice axes?
Then you could look more suspicious. OK, I know how to get out of this. This will be easy.
What will be easy? Giving me bad advice, or the bad advice itself?
The second one. I had to really strain my advice sphincter to come up with this one.
Crawl to the bathroom, complaining as you go about needing to drain your inner ear.
I'm still not doing the ear thing. But I'm in the bathroom now. Please no more ear stuff.
The vacant armhole suggest this particular inner ear is up to something suspicious.
Fine. If you're going to be such an ear-stuff baby, here's what we'll do: You're going to beat yourself up a bit and claim you were mugged.
Won't they notice that I wasn't beaten up before I went to the bathroom? What kind of advice is that?
One, it was just your idiot coworkers that saw you, not your boss. Two, bruises take time to develop. Three, I really want to see if you'll actually do this. So come the fuck on. Just pop yourself in the mouth real good.
You have to do it really hard the first time.
Because you're not going to do it hard the second time.
That makes sense. OW!
Did you do it?
Sounds like you got yourself pretty good.
Umph huh. Ahh crapf. The janitor'f in here.
The janitor waf in here and sah me punf masewf. She lookf confused.
(thinking) "I bet this is the idiot who keeps getting poop underneath the seat."
Dammit. She'll queer the whole deal. You're going to have to silence her.
I can'f. She toof off.
Crawl after her!
She's going to tell everyone you punched yourself, which means you're going to have to fall back on our inner-ear chlamydia plan.
Have you caught her yet?
Nof yet. Oh nof! She'f talking to my boff!
Does your boss look unhappy about what he's hearing?
Does your boss have an unhappy home life?
I don'f think so.
Then it's probably about you then. Hoooooooooo. OK. Plan ... D ... I guess we're on now. Have you previously planted anything incriminating -- like drugs or a smoking gun or something -- in the janitor's closet?
No. Whaf? No.
What the fuck man? You're just setting yourself up to fail, you know that, right? If you're not doing basic stuff like planting drugs in the possessions of your potential enemies, or keeping a parachute stowed in your car ... Well, it's no wonder you keep getting into trouble. Fine. Plan E then. Take the gun taped to your back, and ...
Ha, no, just messing with you. You should have seen your face just then.
I nearly shif myself.
Did you actually? Because we could use that.
No. No I dif nof shif myself.
It's OK. That's fine. You're just going to go ahead with Plan E.01 which is this: Claim you're in a Fight Club with the janitor and you just discovered she was planning to blow up the building.
The janitor gof pretty angry when I said fhat. She's shaking her finger at me and calling me a perverf.
How could she know that?
How could she know what?
About your perversion.
I'm not a perverf! She meanf the punching mysewf thinf.
Oh. That? Really? Did you ... did you get an erection doing that?
Then she's totally off base. Explain to her that you have no erection.
She'f hitting me with her mop! As soon as I said "erecfion" she flipped ouf! I'm getting mop-slapped!
That is nasty. Mops are filthy.
YEF, FANK YOU, I KNOW HOW UNWASHED MOPF ARE, AND HAVE EVER SINCF ONE STARTED HITTING ME IN FHE HEAD.
Oh gross. That could actually ... Heh. Wow. You're not gonna want to hear this.
It could give you an ear infection.
FUCF YOU YOU MOFFERFUCFER.
Your mother should have warned you about mops.
Easy now. Come on. Is she still hitting you?
Nof, my boss pulled her away. She'f gone now.
So you're fine.
Nof, I'm fired.
Why? Did you get an erection when she started hitting you with the mop?
Nof! It'f for all the other thingf I did. I still have no erectio ... oh. Godamnif.
You got a semi didn't you? Man, what a time to learn you have a kink for janitorial violence.
Well, I guess that's that then. Congratulations on successfully completing this guide. You're now no longer late for work -- you're now no longer late for anything. If you need any further guidance, please consult the next article in this series: How To Self-Treat An Ear Infection When You've Just Lost Your Health Insurance.
For more help from Bucholz you shouldn't follow, check out The Cheater's Guide to Winning Online Arguments and 8 Zombie Apocalypse Survival Strategies (For Zombies).