by: Pam Halpert
Would you like a "clean desk" policy to help reduce office clutter and maximize productivity?
38% said Yes
56% said No
*Angela wrote in: "How dare you suggest my workspace is in disorder! You're disordered!"
A Little Advice
by: Ryan Howard
Since it debuted on Friday, Facebook stock is sinking faster than Heidi Montag's career, and people are pretty pissed. I overheard this one dude at the thrift shop call it "Facebroke." I told everybody to wait until the IPO storm blew over to buy shares, since it'll probably just keep going down for a while until it rebounds. But whatever, nobody listens to the genius in the closet office. If you'll remember, I once ran my own Internet startup company - Wuphf.com. Although I wouldn't say I "controlled" the social revolution or anything, I walked away with some heavy knowledge after it was all over, and I'd like to take a moment to give Zuckerberg a few tips:
- Quit wearing hoodies to important events, man. I mean don't get me wrong - I'm all for rejecting conventional social standards. I'm the high schooler who was reading Vonnegut instead of all those those wack history books that are full of lies. If Ryan Howard believes in one thing, it's that you should ALWAYS be yourself. But you should do it in a way that's a little less brazen so the public won't want to kick you in the gut. If you're looking to make an independent statement, try thick-rimmed glasses and a plaid shirt with a nice cardigan, or maybe a cool oxford paired with a bowler hat. Check out the pics of me on Wuphf.com. You'll get the idea.
- Ditch the wife!!! Chicks are a distraction. While you were off getting married, your company was taking a big tumble on the stock exchange. You're responsible for keeping yourself and your organization focused, and you can't do that when you know there are boobs waiting for you at home.
- Bring more people into your inner circle. When I had to decide whether or not to sell Wuphf, I've never felt more alone. I wish I could've turned to my trusted team of cronies to help talk me through the options. Instead all I had was Michael Scott, the same man who burned his foot on a Foreman grill.
Gone Too Soon
by: Oscar Martinez
I can't believe that Donna Summer has danced her last dance. Her music was the soundtrack to my life. As a teenager, I remember sneaking into the disco wearing my best velour pullover, and working my solo moves on the dance floor whenever "Bad Girls” was played. I looked great, but there were definitely some people in attendance who SHOULD NOT have been getting down to the disco funk, i.e. Phil Wilson - the obese racist jeweler with a penchant for spandex roller skating shorts. But whenever one of Donna's high-energy tracks came on, none of that mattered. Her music brought a generation of unlikely people together. More recently when Gil and I broke up, I spent days crying to "Maybe it's Over.” Her gorgeous mezzo-soprano inspired me, and helped me to stay strong. She was the one diva I consistently "Loved to Love.” Thanks for all the memories, girlfriend.
Pumped for the Holiday
by: Meredith Palmer
I don't know about you guys, but I'm hella excited for Memorial Day. It means great weather, awesome BBQ's, and indulging in my favorite summertime cocktail - peach vodka mixed with purple Gatorade. Aside from July 4th, it's the only time I get to wear my sexy American flag dress, which is essentially just an old flag my son stole from his alternative high school. I wrap it around my bod and keep it up with a wrestling belt. Makes me feel like a 10. Not to mention there are smokin' hot vets and active duty hotties EVERYWHERE. I love when they do their rifle salute after the parade. Gets me so hot. FYI, boys - I'd salute your rifles any time of year.
by: Robert California
As you all know, David Wallace has so generously offered to donate one million dollars in matching funds toward a cause very dear to me - aiding young gymnasts in developing countries on their paths through college. Although a select few of these lovely creatures will attain fame and fortune, stunted growth and traumatic injuries force many of them to retire from the sport as mere teenagers. They find themselves wandering the streets of Eastern Europe, shamed and alone. That's where I step in - there to gently take their hands, and show them their worth lies beyond just their amazing physiques. So for now I bid you all adieu. I'd like to say I'll miss your faces, but in all honesty I've already forgotten them.