BraiN

From The Brain of The Giant Head

The Strike is Over--Playball.

It’s been five months. FIVE WHOLE MONTHS since I’ve last written a column. Have you missed me? Where in the world did the time go? Why haven’t I been writing? What has been going on in The Brain of The Giant Head? Well, I’m about to answer all your questions.

As many of you may or may not know, I have been absent from the site because our union, NAFLHI (The National Association For Larger Headed Individuals) went on strike. The Jypsy belongs to it. The Authority Guru belongs to it. James Van Der Beek belongs to it. For years we’ve been underpaid while still carrying the burden of supporting, grooming and feeding unusually large heads. All that hard work takes money, and money isn’t something executives, such as the Wise One, like to just hand out for no reason. They like to hand it out for no reason to beautiful women. And I, unfortunately, am only a beautiful woman on the inside.

So exactly five months ago I sat down at the negotiating table with the Wise One and told him that he needed a haircut. After that, I explained to him that I demanded better treatment and for an increase in pay, which at the time stood at zero dollars per column. He responded by saying that he agreed, he did need a haircut. He also said that what he paid me was fair ($0 per column) and he wasn’t just going to hand me money.

So The Jypsy and I joined the good people at NAFLHI and went on strike. I spent the first month of the impasse outside the Wise One’s apartment, carrying a picket sign that read, "Wise One Not So Wise…Claimed Gigli Was a Good Movie!" But the Wise One was smarter than I gave him credit for, as he sent out his top negotiator, Giant Hose With Impressive Water Pressure, to convince me to leave his premises. It felt like a spit in the face--from a huge elephant. So after doing some watering of his yard on my own, I left.

I spent the next few months the same as most other people: sleeping, playing softball, moving from Chicago to Cincinnati--typical things that people do. And after I moved back to the hometown, the Wise One finally agreed to sit back down at the negotiation table with me one more time. Was it because he missed my enjoyable writing style? Was it because his Web site had become dull without my prose week in and week out? Was it because I got him really drunk, put him in a compromising position and took pictures that I threatened to release via the Web to the general public? I’d like to think it was a little bit of all three.

So we sat down at the rectangular table that had negotiation written all over it (because while the Wise One was in the bathroom, I carved it in five times). We stayed up all night trading proposals, trading counter offers, trading lunches (Moral Victory Note: What the Wise One didn’t know is that the bag of Cheetos I traded him for his pretzels had been opened 3 months ago and were stale. HA HA H…what? There was a prize at the bottom of the bag? $50 gift certificate to Best Buy? DAMNIT!).

I told the Wise One that we demanded better wages, better working conditions and a 12-month subscription to the dirty magazine of our choice. We argued for hours. We argued over money. We argued over whether it was appropriate to wear socks with sandals. Finally, after our jaws were sore, I agreed to no salary increase, no better working conditions, no magazine subscription and periodic steroid testing. He agreed to stop calling me Tina.

So after the months of hibernation, They Jypsy and I are back and better than ever. We roaring and ready to go. We’ve got knowledge pouring out of our ears and need to share it with someone. Hope you join us again.

And the strike wasn’t a total loss, I guess. I’m proud to announce that we now get off for Yom Kippur. And, more importantly, I got the Wise One to drop his idea of getting matching sweat-suits.