BORED MEETING


The panel had assembled
In the corporate conference room
To formulate procedures
Meant to counter gloom and doom.

The chairman banged his gavel,
As members found their places ...
He anticipated boredom
From the looks on all their faces.

The big boss called for order
And got things under way,
Outlining goals and problems
To be reckoned with that day.

Past minutes were presented
In a wordy marathon,
The monotonous presenter
Seemed to ramble on and on.

Charts and graphs and footnotes
Portrayed the corporate take;
Members heads were nodding
In their bid to stay awake.

The sandman worked his magic
On each member one by one.
Each head drooped to the table --
Dreaded ennui had won!

Nap time claimed the chairman too --
Corporate woes would keep;
All the corporation big-wigs
Were in dreamville .... fast asleep!


       
	DESK AUDIT


For the things that I do
I get paid pretty good --
Uncle Sam is quite loose with his pay,
for I sit on my kiester
and answer the phone,
and it don't matter much what I say.

"Line one if for Sharon
or Wanda or Rod
or Verl or Aunt Lee or Odean,
or if line one is busy,
I yell out "Line Two"...
it's so easy it's almost obscene!

Oh once in awhile
a call is for me
when supply is affecting some mission,
but I pass the buck quickly
and tell the offender
to contact the goldern technician!!

My only complaint
'bout the whole damned routine
comes when Rod fails to jump when I holler.
He acts like he's busy
or cant hear a thing,
and it makes me hot under the collar.

Then once in awhile
when lights flash and bells ring,
while Odean's got his radio squeakin,
he'll get there before me
and pick up the phone
and say "This here's Hamblin a speakin!!"

I guess some folks think
that I ain't worth my salt ...
Well, there may be a healing prescription:
Call Lyddy the giddy
from C. Personnel,
and re-write my damned job description!!


       
 	DANGEROUS ANNE
    AND HER TYPING MACHINE


There is in our office,
	a lass sweet and clean,
Who pounds all day long
	on her typing machine.
Her first name is Anne,
	and we all know full well,
That her last name rings out
	with her typewriter, Bell.

She has placed her machine
	in a juxta-position
Which upholds the
	disgruntled typists tradition;
Has narrowed the aisle
	so that all who must pass
When she touches her tab,
	gets a jab in the:
			2.Hind pocket
			3.You know what

To enliven the outlook
	of those who disparage,
She fastened a point
	on the end of her carriage,
Then as one would approach
	a dull pencil to dress,
She'd select the right key,
	and the rest you can guess.

Uncle Ralph as the first,
	bore the brunt of her joke ...
It startled him so
	that his pencil got broke!
It made him too jumpy
	to try it again ...
When his pencil wears down now,
	he uses a pen.

Poor Dave, giving orders,
	was being quite blunt,
When she triggered her carriage
	and caught him in front.
The sail full of wind
	fell right out of that man
As he clutched at his fly
	and took off for the can!!!

In due process of time
	he returned with remorse,
Appearing as though
	he'd been kicked by a horse ...
Or so Eva Jenson,
	just passing by, said;
She was asked to believe
	a "typewriter" instead.

Then offers of help
	in the hour of his need
Began to pour in
	from those in on the deed:
Anne offered a band aid,
	which David rejected ...
He wanted no help
	from a choice she'd selected.

Joyce thought that a splint
	was the cure for the trick,
But a leg from her desk
	was too bulky and thick.
Ed offered some ice,
	and advised with a frown,
"Just hold it in place
	'til the swelling goes down."

This load thrust upon him
	was all Dave could take ...
By now he was sure
	it was all a mistake.
The immediate future
	looked nothing but bleak,
So he locked up his desk
	and took off for a week.

This tale really happened,
	and I was right there.
It makes a good point
	in which all men can share.
The moral is this,
	and it's plain to be seen:
"Don't mess with our Anne
	and her typing machine!!!"


       
  REDNECK EMPLOYMENT AGENCY

I traipsed to Redneck Country
While in search of fair employment,
Needing cash or other subsidy
To nurture my enjoyment.

One feller handed me a pad
With lots a questions on it,
And told me to come back
When I had made my marks upon it.

I couldn't understand em
And they nearly made me hot
When they said I had to tell em,
'bout how many kids I got,

And how old is my pick-up,
And do I wear odd shoes
And is the kinda beer I drink,
The same kind they would choose?

The rest wuz jist as silly,
So I reckoned then as how
That no matter how they begged me,
I'd not work for them nohow !!

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