An Office Chaplain and a Pope of Profits

So I volunteered yesterday to my boss to become the company’s 1st ever office chaplain. Didn’t really work out as planned.


Did a whole PowerPoint on the spiritual needs of my co-workers and how many of them could use some work.


I’m no saint, but at least I’m just a problem drinker and only sort of sleep around (heavy petting). The rest are sinners around here.


Like Sandy? We all know she’s hooked on Viocodin. Any time I need to space out for awhile she’s handing me pills.


And Stu is totally McDrinky-drink-drink. He once split a sixer with me on the drive into work. Dirty lush.


If I was office chaplain I could totally pray the gay away for that short haired lady in accounting.


Told the boss I need a confessional booth for the hot ladies to tell me stuff, anyone else can just tell me in the break room or at my cubicle.


I intended to convert a fire sprinkler for impromptu baptismals for the non-Christos peeps (lots of state school liberal arts majors work here).


He said I’m “out of line.” Said peeps’ walk with the Lord is none of the company’s business. Whatever.


He’d change his tune on bringing the Jesus if he knew about all the stolen pens. Don’t get me started on personal Xerox use.


Long story short: the office looks like it’ll remain Satan’s play pen. I bet God’s wrath knocks the stock down.