There’s a Jersey Milk in my Chicago Manual


“Those trees are so tall,” said my tiny Filipina co-worker as she gazed out the window at the pines outside. “How do they get so tall?”

“If only you could learn their secret, eh?”

“You—” She feigned hitting me. “I get that all the time. I do not care. So what if I am not even five feet? I have two hands, two feet—”

“—no brains….”

“Shush. Of course I have brains. How could I work here without brains?”

“Quite the opposite. It helps not to have them here.”

“Oh, and this is why you have worked here so long, then?”

“I dumb myself down to fit in. That’s why I don’t sleep or read any newspapers anymore: so I can be slow-witted and ill-informed.”

“You lie. What about all those books you have?”

“I’ll tell you a secret: If you open any one of those books, you’ll find it’s hollowed-out. I keep chocolate bars inside them.”

3 Responses to “There’s a Jersey Milk in my Chicago Manual”

  1. 1 SamuraiFrog

    I was expecting this post to end with some variation on “And then we made sweet love on my desk as the rain patted lightly on the window and the phones rang all around us.”

  2. 2 Peter Lynn

    If only. I kept all my condoms in a hollowed-out edition of “Eats, Shoots & Leaves”, but it got thrown out in a fit of spite by a jilted lover after I essentially acted out the title.

  3. 3 Matt


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