Business Management posts

I GUESS you all saw that Mister Hot Shot George Clooney won People magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive!” competition.

This is twice for Clooney.

Brad Pitt won twice.

Last year I called People magazine to inquire about my ranking in the competition. I wasn’t even in their database.

This year I called People again and inquired about my standing in the ranking. A kind and very patient researcher performed an in-depth search while I held on the phone. No luck.

I suggested that just maybe she would find me in the “M’s” as the “Mañana Man.” Yep. She found me. The People researcher said I was in the Hispanic Sexy

IT’S ELECTION Day evening. I’m sitting here trying to get inspired to write my 244th column and my 24th Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, Holiday column.

There. I’ve gotten the political correctness thing behind me. But my depression lingers. I’m not depressed by the election outcome. We all knew long before now what the results would be.

I’m depressed at being inundated for months by all the phone calls, the multitude of negative television commercials, the handful of positive TV commercials and all of the road signs stretching around highways of America.

I want all that stuff banned and the political money in future elections redirected to the printing

THIS COLUMN is the first in my 23rd year of occupying this space. Last month’s column was my 22nd anniversary. I forgot that important milestone and, now, Attila the Editor is pouting because I forgot the fancy diecut, frilly card, the 22 long stemmed roses and the wine—or does he like candy?

IN THE May 2003 edition of this magazine I predicted some mega deals would begin to occur. I also predicted that the number of printing companies would continue to shrink and that we would have less than 30,000 by 2006.

A reader, who will remain nameless, e-mailed me a few days ago and asked if there was going to be a follow-up column reporting on how well I did with my prophesies.

Hey! I am not a modern day Nostradamus. I’m just a mere mortal human being with, maybe, a tad more talent than the rest of you.

I am gonna stop for a minute and

This is a column about work. That’s right, work! Don’t hang up on me!

I know you work hard. I know you are diligent. I know you are tireless. I’m not writing about you. I’m writing about a bunch of people you know. They are called slackers.

You will enjoy this column because it’s about a bunch of other people that you know and see every day at work. They are the slackers. While you are working, they are slacking.

You’ll get vicarious, sweet pleasure reading about these worthless cheaters who show up, but do little work. There’s that word again. Work.

This country is in deep

THIS COLUMN is gonna get you. It will creep into your room while you sleep. It will crawl in your head and begin to control your dreams.

Don’t even think it! It’s too late.

No! Don’t do it! Don’t try stomping the magazine on the floor.

You can’t destroy it in your shredder and burning it in the parking lot won’t work, either. You may as well keep reading. It’s just too late. Your brain is already corrupted and the Mañana Stalker only waits for darkness to come a callin’. Think of your best-ever dream. The night stalker will make it better tenfold.

Remember the dream