The Office TV Show Series on NBC: Creed Thoughts

The 4th of July is tomorrow and some would say it’s the greatest American holiday. Not me. I think America Day beats the pants off of the 4th of July.

You may have missed America Day this year because it’s not really well-advertised. It takes place on June 20th and it is a sight to behold. America Day was created by a friend of mine named Samuel Che Emanuel. He’s rail-thin with a haircut that looks oddly as if a woman had her hair cut short like a man. It’s hard to describe, but it’s a feminine masculine haircut, if that makes sense to anyone. He’s a real sparkplug of a guy. Grew up in the wilderness of Colorado with a pet bear. It was a midget bear, so he didn’t have to worry about it eating him or anything. His parents were trappers and lived “off the grid” so to speak, so wildlife pets were nothing new to him.

Anyway, one day, Sammy Che (as we call him) was walking with Midgy (as he called his bear) and stumbled upon a rock formation that looked like an eagle soaring through the air with a flag waving behind it. I’m guessing that Sammy Che was tripping pretty hard that day, so who knows what the rock formation actually looked like. All we know is that Sammy Che returned home and declared that day America Day. When I first met Sammy Che, it was the 20th anniversary of America Day and he showed me how the day is properly celebrated.

I’ve always liked uniforms. When I was a kid, I wore sailor suits every day until I was eight. People called me Captain Crapstick because of how I dressed and the fact that I would carry around a stick with me that I used for poking all sorts of crap. I still have my sailor suit hanging proudly in my closet, but I only break it out when a special lady comes over. It doesn’t fit so well anymore, but I still look darn cute in it.

In my opinion, every job should have a uniform. Fast-food workers, gas station attendants, exterminators, these guys all have it covered already. I’m pushing for the jobs that make you waste time every morning decided what to wear. Take my job, for instance. I know I’m not allowed to wear shorts, because every time I do, I get yelled at. I also can’t wear vests without shirts underneath. So I’m locked into wearing a certain combination of clothing every day, but there are just too many choices. If it were up to me, I’d implement an office worker uniform so you could just wake up every morning, go to your uniform closet, and three seconds later you’re all set.

My uniform would consist of three items and three items only.

1. Navy blue sweatpants. These are the first item because they’re the most important. When I go home, the first thing I do is put on navy blue sweatpants. You can’t find a more comfortable piece of clothing. The color is great because you can spill all you want and nobody’s the wiser. All in all, if the uniform doesn’t include navy blue sweatpants, I don’t want the job.

2. A vest. No shirt required. Vests are amazing inventions. They cover up your nipples (which society has decided are unacceptable to see, for some reason) and they’re classy. You want to class up a joint? Throw on a vest. You want to add some more class? Make sure that vest is leather.

3. Comfy slippers. Right after I change into my navy blue sweatpants, I slide on my sheepskin-lined slippers. Talk about comfort! These little puppies make it feel like you’re walking on a field of soft paralyzed sheep – I say paralyzed only so you don’t picture the sheep as moving. If I could wear slippers to work every day, I’d probably start caring about my job.

These three items could change the workplace as we know it. I’m serious, America. Just think about how much more productive we would be as a country if all office-workers wore navy blue sweatpants, vests without shirts, and comfy slippers. We’d be a comfortably dressed productivity superpower, and honestly, isn’t that what all this fighting is about anyway?

I don’t know about you, but I’m known far and wide as a guy that can cut a rug. Not literally. I’ve never actually sliced into any rugs, but I bet I’d be pretty good at that, too, considering how handy I am with knives.

I can cut a rug in the sense that I can dance like a mofo. Ever since I was little, I’ve had rhythm in me. Everyone used to call me Lil’ Josephine Baker because I liked to shake it everywhere I went, plus I once made a skirt out of bananas. My favorite place to hoof it was the market. One time, I was dancing up a storm in the produce section and I knocked into a huge display of apples. Those Red Delicious came tumbling down, but that didn’t stop little Creedy. No sir. I just kept on twirling and juking and the apples became my dance floor. When I was finished, the whole store applauded, except for the manager, who called the police.

Not to toot my own horn or anything, especially because my horn is pretty dusty and might make everyone sick if I tooted it, but I’m pretty sure I invented break dancing. I used to have my neighbor bang out a beat on his kick drum while I tried to spin around on my back. At the time, I did it to get dizzy. In retrospect, it’s pretty clear to me that I was inventing a new style of dance.

I’ve got a pair of dancing shoes that are made out of magic. They’ve got a black and white checker pattern on them and I bought them from a Serbian flutist who needed some cash to get his flute out of hock. From the minute I put them on, I felt like my feet had a mind of their own. They just tap-tap-tap to their own beat and I do my best to keep up. For a while, I thought the guy put Mexican jumping beans in the heels, but I checked and there aren’t any beans in those shoes. Not unless I decide to put them there and, as of right now, I have no interest in doing so.

The only place I won’t dance for fun is on people’s graves. I dance on people’s graves for disrespect purposes only and nothing more.