Monday, June 26, 2006



It's good to have ambition. But too much ambition can make you lose your perspective. You can develop a one track mind. And that's when you're vulnerable. You've planned for every contigency. Except one. One that you'd never think of in a million years. Example: You're at a high powered working dinner at a posh Mexican restaurant. In attendance is your immediate supervisor and several other subordinate executives. Your actions thus far have marked you as an individual possessed with relentless drive. You're gunning for your boss' job and the scutllebutt is that you'll soon get it. Everyone in attendance knows it - including your boss. Let's call him, "Mr. Bossinstein". But he's a shrewd man, ol' man Bossinstein. Indeed, Mr. B's craftiness saw him arrive at his lofty position. Steiney knows what you're all about. But your blind ambition has shaped you into a self-absorbed automoton. And B-Stein knows your weakness. The one thing you'd never think to plan for. BB McSteinypants finishes his fried ice-cream and gets up, excusing himself to go talk to some company clients he's just spotted at a table across the room. As he passes you, he cracks a LOUD fart in your face! You're stunned! You have no planned recourse. How could you? Your boss stops in his tracks and says "My, my. I could understand puerile behavior like this from one of our junior executives, but you?" Some of the other executives at your table shake their heads; others stifle a snicker. You're dumbfounded. This whole thing was engineered to look like it was you who'd cast the gas. Engineered by the very man whose job you'd have. You'd underestimated him. You try to stammer out an excuse. And B-Ware just walks away, exclaiming "Don't try to talk your way out of this. Just apologize". You're undone. You can never lead these people now. You've lost their respect. You are not the alpha dog. If only you'd responded to his fart with a scathing retort, like, "The guy who smelt it, dealt it". But you froze. And in that moment, all your efforts were undone. You received a fart in your face.
And that's the danger of ambition.



You're a middle-aged senior executive. Hot on your heels is a hungry young executive. Scuttlebutt has it that your job is next on his menu. Odds are he'll get. He's a rising star and he knows it. But you're not completely through yet. You're a crafty veteran of office politics. You decide to invite your executive staff to a high-end Mexican restaurant. You eat more refried beans than usual and have a couple of extra Corona's. It's all part of your strategy. You've decided that if you're going out, then you're going out with a bang. After you finish your fried ice-cream, you excuse yourself in order to go over and say a few words to some company clients you've just spotted across the room. You knew they'd be here tonight. That's why you're here. And now: End Game. As you pass by that young executive who's after your job, you crack a LOUD, righteous fart in his smug face! And then you turn the table on him by accusing him of cracking that selfsame fart! He flounders in his own flop-sweat. But it's a phyrric victory. He may be humbled, but that will only embolden one of the other young upstarts to take a run at your title. And it's only a matter of time until one of them succeeds. After all, moments like this and farts like that are few and far between.



You know what's justice? Those two corporate douches are leaving the restaurant and both of them spot a shiny $5 bill on the ground. They both go for it and while bending over, a homeless man farts in their faces! Then he says "Ha! Ha! There_s nothing you can do to me! Money means nothing to me! I'm untouchable! And that $5 bill is just a photocopy!" And then for good measure, the homeless man adds: "Hey, take a look in the mirror!" And he pulls down his trousers and moons them. And farts again. A wet one.



I was in a bar and I overheard two guys talking about love. One said that to him, true love would be willing to eat the corn out of his lover's poo. The other guy said that to him, love would be willing to let his lover fart in his face, but he admitted that he's generally not as passionate as the other fellow. What was I doing in the bar? Well you see, I had this shiny $5 photocopy sitting on the floor and...


Anonymous garrito said...


Four years as an undergrad. You graduate with honors. You ace your GMATs and get accepted to Harvard Business. Halfway through, 9/11 happens. You reevaluate your life. "Do I really want to be a captain of industry, a leader of men?," you ponder. Digging deep it hits you: no, you must follow in your father's footsteps, just as he followed in his own father's footsteps, and so on. Your destiny is to become a 5th generation mexican food chef. You immediately enroll in the finest mexican culinary institute this side of the border. No, not the Mexican Culinary Institute (MCI) in Ames, Iowa, but the Tortilla Institute of Technology (TIT) in Dover, Delaware. The name "Pennington" is already legendary at the school, for your great-grandfather, Wilfred Pennington IV first introduced the revolutionary "soft" taco shell there as his senior thesis. You waste little time making a name for yourself, with your signature guacamole-only burrito and experimental Queso con Queso. Upon graduation, a bidding war ensues for your genius among the nation's most exclusive Mexican restaurants. You're not stupid; you go where the pesos are, and are soon donning the top hair net at Chez Guevara. It's your first day. You're excited. The salsa is flying. Suddenly, the sound of an incredibly loud fart rings through the kitchen, stopping everyone. In those few seconds before the smell reaches your nostrils, you reflect: "I caused that." You are home.

12:07 PM  
Blogger Kurt said...


12:54 AM  

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