Whatever you do, don’t send them to Craig Shergold.
Don’t some local restaurants offer a weekly drawing (for a free lunch, etc.) for whoever puts their business card in a bowl?
So stuff the ballot, so to speak.
I have about 999 left over from an old job (500 with the wrong phone number). I write on the back of them. Ironically, I was at a former coworker’s (both of us left our jobs) house and she wrote a name down on a scrap of paper and gave it to me. I stuck it in my pocket and laughed when I took it out to read later and it was on her old business card.
The coolest thing I’ve done so far is write the names of places I want to visit and the mileage from my home to that place. Next I shall arrange them into practical road trip vacations to maximize fun while minimizing mileage and fitting within vacation time from work.
Sometimes I fold them into paper airplanes and throw them at the cat.
They’re a great size for grocery lists.
Hand them out at strip clubs.
I use them for short shopping lists. I can easily put 8-10 items on the back of a card and it fits neatly into my shirt pocket.
You think you’ve got it bad? What do you do if you are 300 unwanted business cards?
Life? Don’t talk to me about life!
I asked myself this question while alone and crying in a bar in NYC with no car or ride or hope of a way out. This is what I came up with:
Find everyone you have ever known, take their blood, and put it on one card. Preferably, just one blood sample to a card, so the poor devils don’t get aids.
Place all of the bloody cards into the fridge. Somewhere on the middle shelf should be good - you don’t want them to smell like bologna, celery, or both at the same time. Aunt Agnus is not the smell we want while dealing with the cards.
Now, go for a walk. It doesn’t really matter where, except for over a cliff is not generally accepted in the higher circle of humanity, and won’t be relevant here. Just clear your head, drink some wine, and walk.
Don’t walk too long, though. That is just weird.
Now, take a bath. Not a creepy bath or anything - chicken hats and hosery is not needed - just a normal typical middle class suburb bath with slightly hard water and germ laden soap with a bland inoffensive bath poof. Don’t take one outside in a metallic bin, either. That is for mountain people. Just a not too long or too hot or too cold or too anything bath. No, just take a slow bath, normal duration of time, and drink some more wine, in a normal way. If you swirl that damn glass, you are being too non what we want. Don’t smell the freaking thing either. You are never going to find all the fun and fruity and woody and peppermint flavored aroumas in that glass, so don’t try.
Once you stop bathing, but hopefully not too suddenly, put on a robe. White terry cotton will work and pink and gold lumber jack flannel will not. We are trying to create a mood, not create a Broaway show in the Ozarks.
Take the cards out of the fridge, hopefully with grace and elegance and a hint of sarcasm, and take them to the bedroom.
It might need to stated now that you will need silk sheets on your bed. You will also need a bed. Also, a floor and a room and possibly a house for the room to be in should do you fine.
Now, throw those bastards all over the bed. All over the bed. Remove your robe.
Roll. Frolic. Roll and frolic. Frolic while rolling and frolicking. Pause, take out a dictionary, look up how to spell “frolic”, then continue.
It’s ok to be aroused, just don’t get paper cuts.
Now, the fun part: rituallisticly bite the cards in half, one by one, while screaming something in Latin. “Memento mori” should suit the mood.
Personally, though, I’d go for the free sandwhiches.