We couldn't find Grant when we got back in the office today, and his later Officewatch posts had suggested that he'd gone a little crazy over the holiday. Maybe we should have taken shifts to guard the intertubes, instead of assigning them to one beleaguered Brissey? An intern complained about a foul odor coming from The Stranger's conference room, and so we set out to investigate.
And there was Grant Brissey, all tuckered out from his Christmas adventures, nestled like a hibernating chipmunk on the conference room table, swaddled in Lindy West's fleece Time Traveler's Wife promotional blanket. He was surrounded by a halo made out of crushed cans of Rize, a book called Furverts, and a well-thumbed copy of the Butt Book. Kelly O's magical weight-lifting thong kept watch over him. Just look at how sweet he is: (Click to enlarge.)
If you can ignore the aged-malt-liquor-energy-drink reek in the air, he looks just like a little angel, doesn't he? We'll let him sleep for another five minutes before we wake him up and get him to work on setting his mess right. Those bathrooms ain't gonna clean themselves.