Normally, when I’m asked to describe deputy editor Ashley Cardiff in 5 words or less I say, “Nietzsche, hilarious early syphilitic phase.” But this week I would say “Nietzsche, almost dead syphilis phase.” Namely, because of shit like this. And this.
What do you do to cheer up your pals? What did Clarence the Angel do? Suspicious stuff, mostly, insofar as he never proved that everyone’s life wouldn’t be better if George jumped off the bridge at that moment. I’ve got to come up with a plan. Here’s what I’m thinking so far:
Tell lies like Clarence did.
Buy sour cream and apple walnut pie, bring it in. Look at this. It would make anyone happy, right?
Bake inferior sour cream and apple walnut pie, bring it in.
Go to a movie, maybe?
Play “The Freshman” really loudly. That stuff is funny.
Bring in pictures of Michael Fassbender naked? That would make me feel uncomfortable, but I’m not afraid to do it. I’m a risktaker.
Put all the Star Wars rings on my fingers at once and wiggle them around, like this, use Darth Vader voice to say things like “don’t worry, be happy” and “you are my sunshine!”:
Finally send Ashley to Space Camp
Give Ashley a fistful of Xanax and a plane ticket to space camp
Two fistfuls of Xanax
Get ships, men, money, too.
Develop time traveling machine.
Time travel to either the future so she can hang out with Chewbacca, her spirit animal, or the past, so she can ride a dinosaur.
Bring a clown into the office so we can mock it.
Or maybe, like, bake some cupcakes? That works.