Terry Gaither Advice on Worker Motivation, Computers, and Bedroom Secrets

Terry Gaither Advice is a sponsored advice column in which Mr. Gaither lends his own advice and wisdom from his twenty years of working in the professional field on Wall Street and his last six years working from his cell in a maximum security, 24-hour watch mental facility.

“Dear Terry,
I run a web-advertising firm, and my salesmen and women are really stinking up the joint! I know it’s the bad economy, but I’m struggling to find ways to motivate them. I’ve considered gift cards, trades, everything, but still nothing. Got any motivational tips?
Ten-Four!,
William Whichtower”

Motivation? What the F is motivation?

Clearly the fact that you’re having to beg your employees to do their jobs to the best of your abilities means that you run a very flacid ship, indeed. But if you’re going to nancy around this situation, and not grab these men and women by their collective scrotes, bending them to your will, you’re probably going to have to get subversive. Polish knives on your desk. Take up archery in the conference room. Take massive dumps wherever you please, and if anyone gives you a look, you tell them this is your office, your house, and when you own something, you can drop a deuce anywhere you please.

Like I said, subversive. Get in their heads.

Or you could go the old-fashioned route: Have you killed the weakest member of your team during an office meeting? Have you even tried to kill the weakest member of your team during an office meeting? Try killing the weakest member of your team during an office meeting.

I doubt you’ll use any of this advice, because you’re a chump asking me how to ‘motivate’ the people you likely overpay. I hope your business is one where you make thin boxes full of shattered glass, and that the building falls on you, sending the shards of glass everywhere in you. And I do mean everywhere.

“Dear Terry,
My name is Cal Stephens and I’m a computer programmer from- …”

NERD!!!

“Dear Terry,
So I’m in Las Vegas for a small business owner’s convention and…slept with a competitor. He seemed like a really nice guy, I just broke up with my boyfriend of four years, we got to talking about business, one thing lead to another…I’m worried I might’ve divulged too much of my business’ strategy and future plans while in his company. What do I do now?
Lucky In Las Vegas,
Pamela Grimes”

You do know I’m in a MAXIMUM SECURITY mental health facility and havent exercised my love muscle in over seven years, right? With the hippopotamus tranquilizers medicine they’ve got me on, I’m lucky to even notice when the nurse is changing my bed sheets. THANKS FOR RUBBING IT IN (pun unintended, but left in the text for intended purposes [TERRY WINS!]).

As a wise man once said “Plowing someone you work with is nothing new, Terry.” But if there’s anything I learned after that guy said that to me, it’s that plowing someone you work against is nothing new. Frankly, I think the adage should be “Plowing is nothing new” but this is a business-focused article so STOP TRYING TO CONTROL ME.

My advice would be to contract a venereal disease and give it to him. He’s already slayed you once, so it’s going to be more difficult to be attractive to him, but go into his office on a Thursday afternoon, when he’s trying to get everything wrapped up for the weekend for an easy Friday, and then hit him with your best shot. It will be very satisfying knowing that his marriage could very well unravel as a result of him giving his wife (I’m assuming he’s married, you seem like the homewrecking type) the clap, the drip, the herp, the roast, or the crabs. But don’t let me confine your creative imagination. Why not get as many STD’s as possible!

This is of course, assuming you don’t already have plenty, which I now realize is a broad assumption. If you (miraculously) don’t, swing by Pleasant Oaks Mental Health Facility, and bring some uppers and blood-thinner. I’ve got a whole batch of something here for ya.

(PS – I know it’s been awhile since I’ve written any of you back. Solitary confinement will do that to your work schedule, and quite frankly, I’ve had some solace knowing that many of the problems you’ve written me about have likely already ruined you before my advice could help you out. Ha. Haha. Hahaha. Ha.)

Friends Whom I Find Humorous, Entertaining, and Unavoidable and Who Also Maintain Their Own Webbing Sites

Today I feel like spreading love.

Everyone has their office routine. You get to work, or wake up and finally get in front of a computer, and you go to certain regular sites, usually news or interest related. I usually go in this order:

Seriously, you should check all of these out. You’ll get everything there is to need to know in the world. Especially that last one. If you’ve got nothing to do for a month, flip through those hundreds of pages for the awesome.

So I’d like to share some more recent sites I’ve been to from people who I happen to know and have met and enjoy reading their material. They’re all worth your time. I wouldn’t be sending you to them if I didn’t already think that, right? Okay, good, glad we’re on the same page again.

Gregg Roberson Is Not Funny

Gregg Roberson is a St. Louis comedian who I’ve run into a couple of times doing my own shows. He’s friends with a bunch of great improvisers I’ve seen, and we’ve done some stand up at the same time and place. He’s got a deadpan, very well-timed, yet somehow organic delivery of joke after joke, paraprosdokian after paraprosdokian, and delivers it in a “countdown” structure.

The second best part about Gregg’s set is that he looks like he’s not trying very hard, which is something I appreciate. The first best part is that he’s hilarious. His site has some of his sets, some of his best lines and a bunch of general info on him. Definitely worth catching if you’re in the midwest, and definitely worth following if you’re…not in the midwest, or in the midwest, too.

Joe Hipperson Uncensored

Joe Hipperson is a St. Louis radio personality who has this feverish following that feels like an underground cult, while being completely out in the open. He used to have a full-time show, then he didn’t, then he did, then it’s part-time…pretty hard for even he to keep up with. So Joe said “F THIS MEDIUM” and when not radioing, puts up boatloads of content about what he’s thinking, what he’s observing, and what he’s thinking about observing, all of which could be contradictory. He’s just going to say whatever he’s going to say, DEAL WITH IT.

One of the more interesting/original features is his “Ask Lashawna” segment, in which readers submit questions to his wife, Lashawna, and she gets to fire off at the mouth at them. She’s hilarious in her own right, and seeing the two interact (with Joe behind the camera) is very Burns-Allen-esque, if George and Gracie were punk rocker types living in Imperial, Missouri.

Being that I know the Hipp Family from our kickball exploits, it should also be stated for the record that Joe is remarkably unathletic, and that when he runs, it can be said accurately it resembles a newborn giraffe running from a predator, or an old, bed-ridden woman having to get up and run from her burning house.

Dan Rankin’s Racing Thoughts

Hooboy.

So I played football with this guy, Dan. He was very good at football, and subsequently earned a scholarship to play at the University of Nevada at Las Vegas. Now, in my undergraduate days in Memphis, I remember thinking This city is no place for an absent-minded college lad to lose his mind. I can only imagine the same was true for Mr. Rankin being in LAS FREAKING VEGAS.

This blog is literally peering into the mind of a mad man. But don’t worry, he’s cuddly, just without any body hair whatsoever. Drank apparently suffers from a similar condition I had when I was a kid, in that the thoughts racing through my head were at such a quick pace, it kept you awake. While in the mid-90’s, I took sleeping medication, it seems Dan has taken to blogging. He literally writes about whatever he’s thinking about right when he’s doing it. It is very original in its stream of conscious delivery, and also its candidness and candor.

There’s a lot of candor. Such as (my personal favorite) the one where he said exactly what he felt to every one of his ex-girlfriends. While I don’t mind reading his opinions on terrible texters, Texas, or the Twilight saga, I’d much rather hear him talk about more original (personal) stories like losing an all-African-American beauty pageant by three points (Rankin himself is Caucasian), his drunken submissions on an internet dating site or, oh yes, telling one of his ex-girlfriends, “I’m so happy for you and your new breasts. Keep checking those puppies on the REG, big dawg.”

—–

So put these guys into your daily reads. And [insert somewhat humble but still self promotional drivel about coming to my site here]! You guys are awesome.

To Whomever Broke Into My Car A Couple of Weekends Ago: I’m So Sorry

To Whomever Broke Into My Car A Couple of Weekends Ago,

My name is Zack, and I’m the owner of the car you broke into a couple of weekends ago. Let me start by saying this immediately:

I am so sorry.

It appears as if it was an unsuccessful heist. Unless, of course, it was your sole goal or mission to simply rip the driver’s side doorhandle off with a crowbar, and throw all of the contents of my glove boxes and consoles around the entirety of the vehicle.

I can’t blame you for breaking into my battered, 1995 sky blue Suburban. Despite the 270,000+ miles, four miles per gallon mileage, no air conditioning, often-faulty breaks, and the stench of a 1,000 nights of sweat, vomit, and tears – we both know that this beauty is QUITE the find. I take pride in knowing full well that you may have actually considered stealing this car, taking the august majesty on wheels for yourself, although, I’m pretty sure that due to its complete and utter lack of anything resembling power steering, you would have driven it into the nearest building.

You, sir (madame?), may have dodged a bullet there!

I’m so very sorry that you didn’t find what you were looking for. I’m sorry that my mixed CD’s from high school (Zack’s Mix: Volumes I-XI) and my parents’ (the original owners of the vehicle) Christian Evangelical literature wasn’t enough for you. Do you know about Jesus Christ? Do you know about Third Eye Blind? It appears that you have had your fill of both of them.

I bet you like Creed, don’t you? That’s like two-for-one!

I’ll be fine. Clearly, by driving my vehicle that, due to a previous “accident*” , appears as if the car itself has had a stroke, I’ve got A LOT going for me. This change in my day-to-day routine, where I now have to crawl in the passenger’s side door, sweat profusely, and then climb over the center console, spinning and rolling like a fat ninja, is AWESOME. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing every time I need to drive, especially not “getting into my car through the driver’s side door without incident.”

(* – Some redneck woman with more tattoos than she had ounces of liquid dignity ran a red light trying to rush her likely illegitmate daughters to school, then gave a Tony (TM) Award winning performance that made it seem like I was the one who made an illegal left turn into her van of maternal love, which was actually a Firebird, and which has almost certainly been reposessed. That was also a good day!)

That’d just be absurd.

Again, so sorry it wasn’t a successful break in, and that the baseball glove in the trunk is left-handed. You probably thought “Jackpot!” until it went on the wrong hand. Can’t win them all, can we? Seriously, though, better luck next time. Hang in there, and you’ll get ‘em next time.

Love,

Zack

PS – You should also know that in the future, I intend on becoming a time-traveling vigilante, navigating the space-time continuum in the name of SWEET LADY JUSTICE. Be forewarned that I plan on traveling back in time to that Friday night a few weekends ago and giving you a case of airborne future-cancer which symptoms are highlighted by brittle bones and making you shit out of your dick. If you heard maniacal laughing in the night’s distance, that was likely a future version of myself. xoxo Zack.

I Hate Hate Hate Germany Ghana

(The first draft of this article was written immediatley after the United States secured passage onto the next round of the World Cup, when it seemed inevitable that Germany would come in second in its group, pitting these old foes against one another. Of course, the Krauts won their stupid, stupid group, leaving us to play Ghana, who later beat us. Being the frugal enterprise we are, we are employing the services of an intern as editor, 17 year old Tommy Martins. That is all.)


ARGH! These guys?! Again? I thought we already sent you packing during WWII the Third Ashanti-British War (1900–1901)? People who know me…heck, even people who DON’T know me, know that I hate hate hate Germany Ghana with a passion. I can’t even say how much I hate hate hate Germany Ghana without repeating the word “hate” thrice. Hate hate (for the aforementioned and quoted use).

What do I say about Germany Ghana? What can anyone say about that awful, awful place? First off, in their native, barbaric and wretched-sounding tongue, it’s pronounced Deutchland Ghana. Looks an awfully lot like the word “Douche,” “Gonorrhea” no? Hey DEUTCH bags Gonorrhea bags! Go back to DOUCHEland Gonorrhealand!

I’ve never met a good-looking woman from Germany Ghana. They have parrallellogram parrallellogram haircuts, abstract arts, and their clothing is always the drabbest of drab most colorful of colorful. Me? I love colors drab! Purple, yellow, green, red, blue: I’LL WEAR THEM ALL I’LL NEVER WEAR THEM. Heck, I’ll put it all on one many article articles of clothing, just to show how much I love color drabness and how much I hate hate hate drabness color.

The Krauts Warrior Kings and their arrogance. Their pride! What kind of nickname is Kraut Warrior King, anyway? Need I remind everyone about a certain couple few of episodes known as, uh, WORLD WARS I AND II THE ASHANTI-BRITISH WARS I, II, AND III. The first one was the absolute worst. Mustard Gas? Spears? That stuff eats your lungs out from the inside. Thanks for bringing that about, you Schnitzel cocoa-eaters. Oh, then the persectution of 6 million Jewish British people and countless more you Nazi Ashanti people slayed. THANKS YOU GUYS! HATE HATE HATE.

OH, and who’s Germany’s Ghana’s most famed citizen? I don’t think I needed to remind anyone of that previous fact, but I KNOW I don’t need to remind anyone of the fact that ADOLF HITLER KOFI ANNAN IS WITHOUT A DOUBT ONE OF THE WORST PEOPLE TO HAVE EVER WALKED ON THE PLANET. I guarantee you there are teams of scientists spread out all over the world, just aching to invent a time machine to go back and make sure that Hilter Annan’s never born by any and all means necessary. That’s gotta be priority numero uno for any time voyager. Go to the future and purchase a sports almanac for present-day gambling purposes: No. 2. Castrating Hitler’s Annan’s dad: No. 1.

I’m trying not to beat a dead horse elephant here, but c’mon. I think we all know the importance of this game Saturday, the US vs. Germany Ghana. This is about more than just soccer. This is about more than just Landon Donovan vs. Hans-Jörg Butt Anthony Annan. This is about sending a message that may have been forgotten long ago by our liberal conservative media today: America rules and Germany Ghana sucks.

In case you didn’t know, I HATE HATE HATE Germany Ghana.

The End

PS: If the USA, can’t win, I know it’s a longshot but look for Ghana Germany to come out on top. That’s where my money is. I got a GREAT feeling about those guys. Good team, good team.

(As originally published on The Ghost of Roy Hobbs, your source for sports and culture analysis from the Natural himself.)

Don’t Worry, Bidness Will Be Back Again Shortly

Sorry about the recent dearth of posting in the past few weeks. I’ve been performing a lot in the past couple of months, and am also hustling all kinds of exotic animals for money, both of which are time and energy-consuming. Also, unlike the foreign wildlife, this site doesn’t make me nearly as many dollars as I’d like it to, so often is put on the back-burner. MY MOST SINCERE APOLOGIES.

However, my performance schedule should be lightening up in the coming week(s?) or so, as my friends begin to travel hither and yon. Also, I’ve just learned that my next shipment of albino shrieking gators has been overtaken by Somalian pirates, while the boat carrying African fire ostriches has been sunk, ironically killing all aboard (the irony is that African fire ostriches are actually very good swimmers, but have little endurance).

So hang tight. Follow my tweets, because that can be done easily from my phone. I like you all very much.

Thanks for keeping on the reading, whoever you are,

Zack

Former Mrs. Jim Joyce: “Well That Just Figures”

TOLEDO, OH – When asked about her ex-husband, Umpire Jim Joyce, and his blown call that cost Detroit Tiger’s pitcher Armando Galarraga a perfect game, an indignant Eunice Hampton-Joyce said “Well, that just figures” through gnashed teeth.

“He was wrong about everything,” nagged Hampton-Joyce, who claims to be happier alone than with Joyce. “How to stack the dishes, how to fold the towels, how to dust the mantle. Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

The Joyces split in 2003, after Hampton-Joyce cited irreconcilable differences 23 minutes after Joyce cited domestic abuse. The case was settled out of court and a restraining order was issued between the two.

“It’s just like him to get something so completely simple as that so completely wrong,” screeched Hampton-Joyce. “His mother really did a number on him. Him and that stupid mustache of his.”

Hampton-Joyce then abruptly ended the interview with reporters to collect yet another ball that had strayed on to her front porch, but not before delivering an expletive-laced diatribe toward the eight-year-old who lost the aforementioned ball.

(As originally published on The Ghost of Roy Hobbs, your source for sports and culture analysis from the Natural himself.)