In the misty mysterious land of Job-job, there was a young little boy. Soppy Copy was his name and he was a magical wielder of the word, which in reality is any of a variety of confused young men and women who, in the face of having to enter the vast intimidating world of Job-job, choose a profession that is seldom as glamorous or fantasmagoric as is sold to them. They trod day in and day out in mystic Job-job trying to do their best not to kill too many butterflies, eat too many magpies or commit suicide in a creative way.
This particular day though, was extremely special for Soppy Copy was going to make a new friend, or was he?
It was a typical Tuesday, typically testing his tasteless talents. He had to decipher a short yet fascinating work order containing a request for a flyer, a word check for a penis soufflé recipe, an obituary for Old Mother Hubbard who didn’t give her dog a bone and a grammar check for another speech of a president from a distant land that sounded something like Yowza! But it wasn’t Yowza, and it wasn’t really important.
Soppy Coppy was having a meaningless maniacal Monday meeting when he was interrupted by Fauna, the people provider who provided pencils for people. She was a nasty lady smelling of rotten cider, stale onions, National Geographics, old hamster and a hint of rosemary for good measure. She called Soppy out because he had to give the tour to a new friend. Soppy Copy was excited, elated, so happy and fascinated for he truly loved to meet new people. Fumy Fauna gave him the low down down low, not because they were beneath sea level, but because she always seemed to drop something yet continue her conversation while crouching, almost like some ancient tribe’s customary welcome for those who suffered from a mild case of hemorrhoids or an extreme tall person complex. She said there would be a new person in the department, a fellow wielder of the word, and Soppy almost clapped at his new stable mate. He’d been lonely for a while since the last word wielder succumbed to a severe case of the apathytic diarrhic most terrific virus known to some as the downsizingwedon’tneedyouanymoreseeyousolongsayonara flu. It feeds on unsuspecting kind people that do their job, never miss a day, try to help out any way shape or form, yet are conveniently disposed of for a lack of the flavor needed to truly be someone in the land of Job-job.
They rushed this way and that, always making sure to not topple someone’s hat, averting each and every coworker brat only to finally come face and meet the nobly ignoble Siam Copycat. Lucky for Siam he was not a stranger, unlucky for Soppy he knew Siam from another fort down the main river, three nautical miles inland of his favorite donut shop which he frequented every 7 and a half days or so. Soppy’s glare had faded and Siam’s smile merely widened as it glistened with hypocritical dismay as he knew very well why Soppy was so dreadfully soppy. It had nothing to do with horse radish, absolutely nothing to do with the inconclusive arguments of Mathew Molly, the asexually androgynous art director with enough hair on his upper lip to be a cafeteria worker, yet enough sense to never wear white high heels after labor day. But it did have all to do with the fact that Siam and Soppy not only knew each other, but actually rather despised each other as much as a sea otter would hate a sperm whale, a squirrel would despise a nut zipper, and old horseshoes would hate a new mare that would constantly tap dance to the sound of any track of Good Charlotte, for however distasteful said music and dance would truly be.
“Hello Siam.” Said Soppy Copy.
“Hello… you.” Said Siam Copycat, as he undoubtedly had forgotten all the names of all the people who have ever helped him yet never forgotten one name of all the people who’ve been under the wrath of his posterior puckering poignantly pelleted to an almost pubic degree.
Fumy Fauna simply beamed as she realized that not only did these two know each other, but she didn’t have to waste time presenting each other and could go back to that devilish Baby sudoku puzzle she’d been battling since November… of 2004.
“Lovely!” She said as she muffled a belch worthy of any lobbyist or any Armenian poo biter. “I’ll leave you two to chat.”
And thus she heaved her mounds of joy down the aisle, scarcely leaving enough breathable air for one person, much less two who really didn’t like each other.
“What are you doing here Siam?” asked Soppy in a tone not unlike that of a girl who had just spotted someone with her same dress.
“Well you know, a little bit of this a little bit of that.” Said Siam as he really wasn’t up for spilling his beans or any beans at any moment.
“How did you get this job Copycat? And I’d like a real answer this time.” Spat the weary word wielder.
“Well I just handed in my resumation to the appropriate authorities, and voila, here I’m in, in tinsel town once again.”
It is one thing to be despicable, it is another thing to be a bad liar, it is yet another thing to be bad at grammar, and it is most certainly another thing to be a huge fan of Hootie and the Blowfish, but when you are all of these disgusting things and more, you undoubtedly have to be Siam Cat.
“So calling in favors for a few trumpet blowing sessions are we? Fine. Let’s see how long you last in the real world!”
“Soppy, Soppy, my dear Copy, there’s no need to be floppy just because the better man won that contest so long ago. Why can’t we let bygones be bygones and just work together?”
“Last time we worked together, you stole my idea, sent an email before me, and when they asked what was up, you simply pointed at me, said I was to blame, ignored the proof that I’d done the job before you, meaning stamped emails and documents, and proceeded to whine to the Vice President of Managerial Menageries and they proceeded to give me the boot so as to keep your reputation spic and span.”
“Trifles of the past.” Dismissively said the Cat.
“That was one year ago; and now your back… you’re back? We’ll just see how you manage to mess up this time. Heed one word cat, don’t mess with me, don’t steal from me, don’t look wrong at me and most importantly, don’t FUCK with me.”
And with that, Soppy Copy turned around and stormed out of the room, leaving Siam Copycat to his navel picking, booger licking, computer sniffing ways. Seems some people, no matter how good hearted can’t seem to find how important it is to be suspicious, jealous, delicious and zealous with one’s work and this would later lead to another tale, that would be told another day. For now though, we leave Job-job and peruse through Peruvian advertisements in search of the next great big award winning stolen campaign at least 4 people have thought of.
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