This idea hit me like a fucking freight train and I had to do it. Warnings: language, Danny's random stupidity that I pulled out of my ass. Enjoy :D
The Log
October 20th
0906 Hours
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ME.
Danny J. Messer here, on my new nifty little laptop-computer-thing.
Let me explain.
So the entire team decided to pitch in and get me a mini-laptop (it's called EEE something, which hopefully is not an acronym eastern equine encephalitis or whatever that shit is in this case) that doesn't hold anything but like word documents and an Internet connection. Which is totally cool by me. They said something about me having hyperactive issues and never taking my meds, which made me ask, "What meds?"
Like really? What the hell.
They got me this thing for the days when maybe we don't have any bodies to rip apart or guns to shoot, so I can remain occupied and refrain from playing Truth or Dare with the lie detector. Or creating random bodies on Sid's special 3-D hologram thing and ripping them apart.
The most kickass part of this is that I can be all gossipy and write down scandalous things that I notice, which admittedly is a lot. It's impossible to not hear everything when you have ADHD—I'm in so many places at onces that I hear soooo much stuff it's ridiculous.
This thing is insane—military time? Really? Bad joke, Mac. Bad, bad joke.
Oh, hold on, they're coming in with a cake and Sid is singing really loudly. Maybe he's drunk.
9:30 AM
Conclusion: yes, Sid is definitely drunk. Who gives a man alcohol before noon?
They had Adam, King of the Awkward Lab Geeks (a role generously given up by Sheldon), carry the cake in, which makes me question what sort of narcotic drugs they were up to now. I'm not sure if Adam even has toes. The poor guy has the worst luck ever. He trips over molecules.
So of course, upon walking over the threshold of my office (which bears absolutely zero difference in level from the hall—no step up, no ramp, nothing) he stumbled forward and launched the cake directly at the Obama poster very close to my right ear. A candle actually pole vaulted into my ear drum and then stuck to the pastry covering Obama's face.
Flack fell over. I feared for the man's life. I'd always heard the phase scream with laughter, but never actually saw it in real life.
Mac, who only smiles unless Stella's at his immediate side, put on his sigh,-I-am-a-Marine-therefore-am-so-much-more-coordinated and practically tap danced over to the scene of the crime, inspecting it shortly.
Stella snickered. "Your deduction?"
He smiled. "Cause of death—Adam's two left feet."
Everybody thought that was real funny. It was really a shitty joke though.
I burst into laughter anyway. "BAHAHAHAH, MAC, YOU ARE ONE FUNNY SON OF A BITCH."
Everybody shut up at that, but Flack continued to choke up his lungs with hysterics. I made a mental note to kick him later.
So now I'm sitting here seeing how many times I can spin in my chair without falling over. So far I've made 124, but then I hit the desk and screamed a few inappropriate things at the top of my lungs, which made Mac come in and—get this—rap my knuckles with a ruler.
Ahahahaha, whoever raised that man was a nun.
Now the smell of the Obama-face-cake is getting to me. It's an ice cream cake, but the way it's melting off his face is kind of making me hot.
9:36 AM
I just called Lindsay in and asked her if this was normal.
Apparently not.
9:40 AM
I wonder what it tastes like.
It's soooo beguiling.
That was a vocab word in my senior year of high school. My teacher kept talking about Circe from The Odyssey when she said it. I thought The Odyssey was the biggest piece of literary shit every omitted from the ass of the Greek language. All I learned from it was that Zeus got around the block, up the street and downtown at least four times in his existence.
Also, Hermes is the god of gay porn.
I remember I told Stella this and she got all defensive. "I'm Greek, you know!"
I bet if she had a MySpace, her heroes section would be like, "HERMES, THE GOD OF GAY PORN HEART HEART HEART, ME LOVES ME SOME ODYSSEUS, MMMM GET ME SOMMA THAT"
Maybe not. Stella seems like the kind of chick who's all chill at work and then opens the door when she gets home and has a bunch of like crazy shit—African tribal music and she performs like Purple Rain to her hypothetical cat when it snows out and shit.
9:53 AM
THIS CAKE IS MAKING ME GO BANANAS.
OH, MY GOD. HOW CAN SOMETHING DEAD SMELL SO GOOD.
10:07 AM
I just walked into the lab and strangled Adam for a few seconds. He had no idea what the fuck was going on, but I got a lot out of it. It made me feel better.
Of course, I got back in and the Obama cake is staring at me.
10:21 AM
I can't take it.
I'm doing it.
10:55 AM
What the hell dude. I can't even get a bit of privacy in this damn office, FOR REALZ.
So I went to walk out the door to get some water or something, and that was when the smell just took me over. I turned around and literally just catapulted my torso at the Obama poster, doing a chest bump with him. Cake splattered into my face in slow motion but OH MY GOD IT WAS HEAVEN.
I just basically attacked it with my tongue, licking my thirty-second birthday off of the President of the United States of America. (THAT IS SUCH A FUNNY SENTENCE IN CONTEXT AHHAHAHA)When I was done I turned around and Flack was standing there in the doorway, looking too hysterical to even laugh. He simply sank to the floor, tension shooting out from him like a fucking laser beam. Then:
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH"
Mac must've worn his jet pack loafers because he was at the door in a second, so I dropped to the floor and started caressing the rug so he wouldn't see my cake-infested chest. "FLEAS," I cried helplessly, trying to make shit up. "WE HAVE FLEAS, QUICK, MAC, GO BUY SARGEANT'S SHAMPOO."
Get this—he took off down the hall, leaving a fucking dust cloud behind him. I joined in laughing with Flack then, just because it was funny as hell.
11:30 AM
SHIT DUDE
I DON'T HAVE A CHANGE OF SHIRT.
12:17 PM
Had to wear Lindsay's spare MAROON ("NO, DONALD, IT IS NOT PINK" is the phrase of the day today) turtle neck sweater that makes me look like an Olympic swimmer in the shoulders. Honestly. MAN SHOULDERS MUCH. And I should be flattered because I am a man, but I'm NOT.
12:22 PM
Just fell off the spinny chair again, FUCK
12:42 PM
Gotta go, Dead Guy Alert. Almost told Stella about flea problem.
Value life more than Mac's awesomely scary dedication.
ahahahah, you have no idea HOW MUCH FUN this is to write. I know they're all OOC--great thing is, I don't care. :D