Tuesday, September 8, 2009

The JohnsoNation Summer Internship

This past summer I decided it was time to give back to a world that I have taken so, so much from, and develop an internship program for my thriving new company. I have to say that this year was a huge success, and we here at The JohnsoNation Corporation are very excited to continue the program next summer. For all you potential new interns, here are excerpts from our last intern's journal to give you an idea of what our program is all about.


June 8, 2009

Internship at The JohnsoNation Corporation: Day 1

Today I begin my internship with The JohnsoNation Corporation. Due to the fact that the office building was not yet prepared, my boss Mr. Johnson came and met me at the local Bob Evans. There he gave me a quick run down of my responsibilities at the company. While shoveling hash browns in his mouth he informed me that my duties were to "follow my every word" and "keep your mouth shut."

Although I am truly excited to be spending my summer learning the inner workings of the corporate system, I have to admit that some of the tasks Mr. Johnson bestowed upon me were quite perplexing. Duties such as note taking, dictation, and filing all made sense, but then he went on to say I should always have a wet suit handy, and to “never trust the gnome."

I’m even more concerned about the dress code, which consists mostly of sweat bands and temporary tattoos. Hopefully these procedures will become more relevant and clear as I delve into my new position.

The meeting ended when Mr. Johnson excused himself to the restroom and never returned. I paid the bill, (which was supposed to be a business lunch) and left to prepare for the next day.


June 9, 2009

The corporate office was not what I expected. The building was dilapidated at best, and had more rats than employees inside. Also, most of the employees seemed to be homeless people crudely dressed in shabby shirts and ties.

Frank from accounting.

I went to Mr. Johnson’s office to talk about the working conditions, and was stopped by his secretary, someone who I suspected was a crack whore. Sitting on my lap and offering me services “for rocks” confirmed my suspicions.

When I was finally permitted to enter his office, (I had to pay her to leave me alone) I walked in only to find Mr. Johnson surrounded by mountains of papers, all with lists of social security numbers and birthdates on them. He was frantically shredding them while deleting his hard drive. When I questioned him about the conditions of the building, he responded with “It’s got windows and a door doesn’t it?” I told him that while he was correct, the windows were all broken and the doors did not have knobs on them, and I was reasonably sure the building was covered in asbestos. His response was simply “Yeah, can’t get enough asbestos."

When I informed him that our fire escape was just a rope dangling from the roof to the ground, he told me to “Stop being a pussy.” Not wanting to lose the respect of my superior, I said nothing else. When I asked him what I should do for the remainder of the day, he told me to “Go file some shit," then opened up a bottle of scotch and started guzzling it, imbibing an unhealthy amount of alcohol.

I’m starting to become very unsure of this internship.


June 19, 2009

Today one of my co-workers asked me if I wanted to get in on the office betting pool. Being a big fan of basketball, and seeing this as a chance to fit in, I gave him my $50 dollar entry fee and he handed me a copy of the bracket. When I went back to my cubicle to review the bracket, I discovered some unusual team names, names such as "Swastika," the "Hungry Hobo," the "Retarded Mail Room Boy," and the "Kidnapped Cheerleader."

Eventually I discovered that I had inadvertently joined an illegal gambling ring for death matches conducted in our office basement, which could accurately be described as a dungeon. When I tried to get my money back, my co-worker looked at me and said “What money?” while stroking an ice pick. I decided to fill out the bracket, recognizing that if I’m going to risk going to jail, I might as well try and make a profit.

I don’t like what this internship is doing to my sense of morality.


June 23, 2009

Today a man from the Better Business Bureau came for an inspection. Mr. Johnson greeted him, ordered me to join them on the tour and to take notes the entire time. The Inspector made several negative comments during his visit, and even stopped at one point to vomit when he saw our bathroom facilities, or as Mr. Johnson has nick-named them, “Our little shitting holes” (this is actually more of a description than a nick name).

To be perfectly honest, this is an improvement to what we had to endure.

When we got to Mr. Johnson’s office he asked me to hand over my notes and told me to go to the store and buy a gallon of bleach. When I returned the Inspector was gone and Mr. Johnson was waiting for me with my notes in hand. He gave them to me and then demanded I sign off on them, even though they had been clearly tampered with. He had crossed out most of the facts and replaced them with a confusing story that implied the Inspector threatened to burn down the office, sexually assaulted several employees, and then ran out of the building screaming “I killed John Ben
ét Ramsey!"

When I refused to sign it, he replied “It’s fine, I have your signature on file anyway,” and then proceeded to dump the bleach all over his office floor. Afterward Mr. Johnson called in two of my co-workers and told them to execute “Maneuver Delta." The two co-workers then grabbed several heavy garbage bags and dragged them into a waiting Ford Taurus. Mr. Johnson then began loading the car with cinder blocks, and asked me if I had my wet suit ready.

I do not expect to be back in time for my scheduled lunch break.


July 7, 2009

Today I approached Mr. Johnson about a possible letter of recommendation. He was sitting in his office pantsless and trying to turn on his television with his iPod. When I asked him about the recommendation, he said only if I could “Answer me these questions three." He then went on to recite dialogue from Monty Python and the Holy Grail for the next 45 minutes. Afterword he chastised me for not being up to the company’s dress policy, the guidelines for which have changed frequently since the day I started.


When it was obvious that no real questions were going to be presented to me, I asked for the recommendation again. Mr. Johnson agreed to do so, only if I mixed him a drink. Upon inspection of the office I found neither drink mix nor alcohol of any kind. In fact, the only liquids in the room were generic cough syrup and half a bottle of glass cleaner. He told me to “Mix that shit” because he was “boning for a drink."

I call this drink “the coma”

After consuming a concoction that I’m sure was mostly poison, Mr. Johnson slapped me on the back, said “that’s how you do it queer,” and then passed out. I decided I really didn’t need the letter that badly and called poison control.


July 23, 2009

Today Mr. Johnson gave me a briefcase and told me to go to behind the building and “wait for the man in the suit." I stood in the back lot for close to three hours before a large unmarked van pulled up. The door slid open and two large men in ski masks emerged, carrying a gagged and blindfolded man. Another man in aviator sunglasses and a bright blue Armani suit approached me and introduced himself as Mr. Hibbs. He took the briefcase out of my hands and gave it to a small Cuban man he called Diego. He then patted my cheek, slipped a fifty dollar bill in my shirt pocket, and said “You didn’t see nothing."

Later that day I heard an important official from City Hall had been kidnapped while he was in the bathroom. I considered calling the police, but then decided to microwave a hot pocket instead. This job has all but killed my empathy.


Aug. 11, 2009

I walked past Mr. Johnson’s office today and saw him and Mr. Hibbs fiercely arguing while waving guns in the air. I overheard Mr. Hibbs saying “What do you mean they won’t pay the ransom,” and Mr. Johnson shouting “Let’s just leave him in the dumpster behind the pre-school." I grew slightly concerned when they both stopped talking and stared directly at me. I grew even more concerned when they silently followed me around for the rest of the day, constantly invading my privacy by reading my emails and screening my calls.

I feel very fortunate that tomorrow is my last day.


Aug. 12, 2009

Today I arrived at my scheduled time to find the office deserted. Sitting on my desk was a loaded gun and a note that said “Protect yourself.” I gripped the weapon in my hand as I searched for Mr. Johnson in his office, expecting the worst. The office was dark, so I anxiously searched for the desk lamp to provide some illumination. I pulled the lamp chord only to find the gagged and blindfolded man tied to a chair, his neck slit from ear to ear. I quickly reached for the phone and attempted to dial 911, but instead of a dial tone I heard only silence.

Suddenly I heard the sound of helicopters outside, and muffled voices behind the office door. A tear gas can landed at my feet, and five armed police officers in full riot gear burst through the door. I raised my hands in the air, and was getting ready to explain myself when one of the officers screamed “He’s got a gun,” causing the rest to rush me and take me to the floor. I kept trying to explain the situation, but after they found the stacks of birth certificates and closet full of skeletons (literally...human skeletons), I decided it was probably best to just keep my mouth shut.

Since then I have
tried pleading my case many times, but it's been to no avail. Every once in a while, I look out the window bars of my cell at the ocean surrounding the prison. And, I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I think I see Mr. Johnson out there, staring at me, wearing his company issued wet suit.


The JohnsoNation Corporation is now taking applications for summer 2010 Internships! Please provide your social security number, a copy of your birth certificate, and an object with your finger prints on it. Positions are filling fast, so don’t delay, apply today!


  1. Andrew, this made me laugh until I wasn't even making any sound.

    The part about the coma reminded me of our aborted efforts at making Flaming Moes. You let me know when you are making an appearance in Huntington again and we will "mix that shit."

  2. this internship sounds like something I want to be a part of

  3. This blog sounds like a mix of the Comedy Central Show “Im with Busey” and “Our Discipleship Program” at Marshall. As a matter of fact, my diary is missing….