04.30.08

The world is mine!

I've finally upgraded my life. Still without a job, I still managed to trek my way to Wal-mart to make some very valuable purchases. To ensure that I never lose my way again, I bought a new cell phone with GPS installed. I'll be able to walk around any neighborhood and be certain that a satellite is shooting invisible rays in my direction. Also, I was running low on clean socks, so I picked up two six-packs of socks. Who would've thunk that they sold left foot socks and right foot socks separately? That could be my new money-making idea. Sell socks for both feet in one pack. Watch out, Hanes. The JP Enterprises is on the rise, and we sure as hell ain't no Star Trek battleship.

(pause)

I just googled the name and apparently my company is selling bolt-action rifles and gun shit. I guess I'll have to invent a new, more prolific name. Oh, well. Back to my day. I made sure to purchase some Under Armour because those are the only tights I can probably wear and not look like a gay superhero. I couldn't find a nice ski mask, so instead I picked up a kid's Robin Halloween mask. Though, I haven't tried on any of it yet, I can already tell my outfit is going to be kickass. I also bought 3 boxes of cereal, which should last me the rest of the year if I eat two pieces every few hours. I'm already anxious to finish a box to see what lucky prize I'll win. I hope it's a laser gun because that would seriously make my super-hero costume accessorizing complete.

I can see it already. I make my way to New Jersey. Breathe in toxic fumes. Gain mutant powers. Fight crime in the tri-state area. Soon enough, Spielberg and Scorsese will be contacting me to star in their next generation X-men flick. Then, Buttman will be calling me up to make a biographical film of my life, only I lose my virginity and continually get laid. It's gonna be the shit. Look out for me because I am on the road to better places and shit.

Some choose to dream their life.
I choose to live my dream.
But people still call me an idiot.

04.28.08

Work is for suckers!

The past Thursday, I went into work. Unshaven. Unshowered with bed head. Coffee stained clothes. Goo crusted eyes. Dirty fingernails. You get the point. Basically, I did not want to work anymore and was planning on a career change. As soon as I walk in, I headed straight to my bosses office with a letter of resignation in hand. As soon as I was about to let my boss know that I plan to resign in two weeks, he cut me off and informed me that one of my TPS reports had an ASCII picture of some naked Jessica Rabbit and that I was fired. It's some serious bullshit. He can't fire me when I'm about to quit. I tried to tell my boss that I'm handing in my two-weeks notice, but he told me I can't quit when I'm already fired. I told him I'd be sending my lawyer over to handle the matter. Too bad my boss doesn't know that my lawyer's name is Molotov Cocktail. (Actually, it's not, but that would be pretty damn cool if it was.)

I'm going to miss the boobs with that noob-hire attached to it. Apparently, he left to get a breast reduction and will be out for the next few weeks. I'm not going to miss the copy machine boy, but as a going away present, I chewed up all 40 sticks of my gum and left the huge wad on the underside of his newly, undeserved desk. While gathering my belongings, I took that half-empty bottle of Fanta and dumped it on the floor. I went to look for the intern I've been banging, but she was out on some business trip and shit. Upon leaving, I made sure to take the paper clips and stapler with me. The company makes so much money, they'll never miss the paper clips, and stapler, and computer monitor, and desk handles. MUWAHAHAHA! Good luck on figuring out how to open the drawers to the next guy who gets my desk.

So, here I am, at the library, writing this, trying to figure out what direction my life is headed. So far, I've only come up with two options.

1. Take a train to New York and become a professional homeless man, begging for tax-free income.

or

2. Take a train to New Jersey and hopefully find a toxic waste dump to bathe myself in with hopes of gaining supernatural powers.

Since I'm not much of a beggar, option 1 is out of the question. Well, Off I go to my quest of becoming a superhero or super villain. Either way, I hope I meet someone who will accompany along the way. This way, we can start some kind of alliance or war between arch-nemesists. Wish me luck and god's pee.

Here is a picture of me with my refund check that will be used for my train ride to the unknown. I had to photoshop the shot so that the actuall value of my dollars wasn't clearly visible. Unfortunately, the flash of my camera has altered the lighting, giving the perception that I have no nose. Don't let this picture fool you because like the rest of the nose-having population, I really do smell.

If I can't enjoy work, work sure as hell better enjoy me.

04.23.08

Well, I'll be!

For lunch, I took a brisk walk to the sundae shop a couple blocks down. It was only 12:30 pm, so I wasn't too hungry. As I waited in line, there was a fine, young thang standing ahead of me. Though it was mini-skirt weather outside, her short shorts were good enough for my eyes to ogle at. Trying to figure out how to begin a conversation with this lady, I just blurted out, "Excuse me, miss. Your knees are ashy." She dismissed my comment, and snapped her focus of attention away from me. I quickly apologized to her and offered to buy her an ice cream. Accepting my kind gesture, I began making the small talk. The wWhos. The whereabouts. The life and shit. Assuming that she was a college girl, I got to the question, "So, how old are you?" To my surprise, she was 16. Apparently, this child was either skipping school or she was a child actress who made enough money to the point where school was not a necessity for her. Not wanting to seem like a perverted, old man, I told her, "I know it's a nice day out, but you need to be in school with the rest of the children. Trust me. Just stay in school. And don't do drugs!" I paid for her ice cream and walked back to work, while silently praying for forgiveness for my lewd imagination, which wasn't as bad until I found out her age. On the way back, I felt like a super-hero. Changing the world, one person at a time.

Now, for the pissed off part. My fucking boss is a fucking piece of shit. I just had my quarterly review, and it was decided that I did not deserve a raise. It's complete bullshit. I understand I've made several passes at the better looking female employees, and that my TPS reports didn't always have the proper cover sheet, but that doesn't mean I can't get a raise. The fucking secretary got a raise, and every time I've checked her out, she's been painting her nails, or swinging her leg with her oh-so sexy stilettos hanging off of her toes, in that gray business skirt with the red glasses, looking too damn fine. I mean, she hasn't done much work, and she got a raise. Whatever. The point is that my boss needs to open his eyes before I open it for him, permanently. I'm tired of this weak ass pay. If I can't get a raise, at least make it legal for me to get a blow job each day from the female of my liking within the whole floor who cannot be selected for consecutive days. Is that too much to ask for?!

"Do it slow. Do it sexy. Do it deussimo.

04.21.08

I finally got my very first camera and am very anxious to share my pictures with you. Through here, you will be able to see the start and evolution of a photographer specialist deluxe super sized. My camera only seems to be able to take black and white photos. I'm sure there's a way to change the settings, but I'm way too smart to read the construction manual. Besides, I ordered it from some online off-site warehouse in Japan, and all the constructions are in Japanese. And to make things worse, I can't figure out how to send it into the Google translator. Anyway. Here is the very first photo I've snapshotted. It's a picture of me using my cell phone, talking to the Verizon operator to express the joy within about purchasing and using my first camera. I told her to smile in the picture, but technology isn't that advanced.


Off topic, my freaking boss is a moron. He writes out these newsletters for all of us lesser people to read, discussing the latest news, benefits, and gossip about where this company may be heading. Before handing out the newsletters, he gave a brief summary of what is in the newsletters. He totally ruined the ending for me. What's the point of handing out readings if you're just going to spoil it for everyone. It's like making a hit movie about sex, drugs, and explosions and telling people it's about Mormons. But this isn't why my boss is an idiot. He's an idiot because if he wanted people to read it, he would've e-mailed it to his employees like the rest of the world. Everyone knows that paper is obsolete and that it kills Earth. He needs to jump on this bandwagon of technology before he gets left behind and gets mistaken for a real individual.

I'd complain some more, but I have to go buy stamps so I can send out my renewal for my nudie magazine subscriptions.

Enjoy life. Eat hard. Drink heavy. Indulge.

04.18.08

I hate gossip.

The latest office talk, at least from what I've been eavesdropping on, is that pregnant he-she on Oprah. I don't get what the big deal is. If this man still has ovaries, he's still a female. Apparently, the reason this is the latest talk is because some college kid just got hired as an intern. Though he is very ashamed of himself, he is a really smart person with a good rap sheet. It may sound completely out of the ordinary, but this kid had some seriously bad luck. According to his story, after he had graduated college, which I'm guessing wasn't too far back into the past, he took a vacation to Mexico. After months of hard partying and sinful endeavors, he woke up one day on the street with a pair of tits. That's right. As hard as it is to believe, the new intern got tits and he's a man. It looks real funny, but I must admit, he's carrying a great set on him. He said he wants to get rid of them, but hasn't made enough money to get the operation, so for the mean time, we are all laughing at him behind his back and to his face. We, here at the office, have been trying to get him to flash us, but for some reason, he's being a little bitch about it. I'm not too sure what this guy did to get a great set of tits, but his story sure beats the hell out of the pregnant man story.

I've heard of chicks with dicks, but never dudes with boobs until today.

04.16.08

I'm poor and it doesn't make sense!

I was listening to the radio today at work and they were discussing income of people. Of course, Tiger Woods racked in some big bucks. I mean, if I was the first Cockblackasian, or whatever the hell he called it, people would be sending me checks, too. And of course, The Bushies was stacking them big bills. I mean, the man isn't The Man for no reason. And apparently, there's a 15 year old girl who racked up $18 million dollars this past year. I want to know what the hell this girl has been doing. She has either got to be partaking in massive amounts of prostitution or distributing illegal contraband in the big weights over international borders. Or both. At the same time. All I know is that she sure as hell ain't pushing girl scout cookies in front of ShopRite like regular 5th graders. I'm just wondering how the hell did this teenager made close to 2000 times what I made this past year and probably more than I might make in this lifetime. Shit like that piss me off more than a prom night abortion with a soda on the side.

I may be poor, but I shouldn't be complaining because to the really poor, I could be considered a middle class money puller.

I was standing on the welfare line to apply for my free government checks and the guy behind me strikes up a conversation. He says to me, "You sure as hell don't look like you need welfare money." I was dressed in my dark grey, pinstriped Pierre Cardin suit with matching tie, solid gold-colored cufflinks and 13 year old, scuffed up Italian leather shoes, but since I had happened to brush my teeth that day, I could understand why he would assume I wasn't in need of government monies. We started talking about life and he went on and on about his trouble finding jobs and getting arrested for crack and heroin possession every few months. I tried to tell him that there's still hope, but I knew there wasn't much left. As a matter of fact, I could still smell the liquor in his breath, so he had to be intoxicated. He rambled on about how he couldn't figure out what he's been doing wrong his whole life to get to where he is. I cut him off mid-sentence and just told him he needs to lay off the drugs because if he can't keep his life together while attempting to maintain particular habits, then some of those habits need to go. That's why my life is almost together now. I was able to separate the necessities from the luxuries. I realized underwear is just a luxury and after wearing dirty underwear for 2 and 1/2 weeks straight and developing that diaper rash, I found that I didn't really need it. (So what if the scent of my farts are more noticeable?) And I realized that food isn't too much of a necessity when you have caffeine and the internet. A $12 dollar coffee and a wireless internet connection is well worth it when the lady sitting across the room is a hottie with a body deluxe, wearing a black business suit and skirt with glasses, showing cleavage and panty line, and when you wink at her, she'll think you're a creep and leave the cafe, and I'm left watching previews of internet porn for the next half hour while sipping on my small Extreme Caramochalottaccino with raspberry swirl and whip cream. Or some shit like that. It's shit like this that I live for. Of course, there's always water. Because you never know when someone will internally combustulate into flames. And Lord knows how often that happens.

Do what you have to do to survive.
And always keep prime color crayons handy because you never know when you'll run into a coloring book.

04.15.08

Such a strange occurrence.

I drove into work this morning and noticed that Gordon wasn't doing his daily flag raising thing. There was a new guy. I found out Gordon went on vacation for a week, so a new security guard is taking his place. Now, I'm not too patriotic, though I do love my country very much, but this new security guard seriously fucked up. As he was hoisting the flag, he brought it down and let the flag hit the ground. The flag was straight up, laying on the ground. I saw him look at it, then shrug, and continue to raise it to full mast. That's some fucked up shit. I don't know the flag rules, but I've always heard that it needs to be burned if it touches the ground so that it does not stay desecrated. This new security guard just desecrated our national symbol, and didn't seem to care. What I want to know is where the hell did this guy get his security guard degree?! I was having thoughts about climbing the pole and setting the thing on fire, but I don't think fire would be a safe tool 50 feet in the air without a barbecue apron, and a barbecue apron is not something I keep handy on Mondays. Plus, I'd feel too much like King Kong and start beating my chest, which would probably cause fighter jets and Airwolf helicopters to shoot at me, which does not seem like a fun experience, no matter how much the movies tell you.

I went and took a walk down Main St. to find a lunch place to eat and it was deja vu all over again. There on the floor was a shirtless hobo with the U.S. flag tattooed on his arm. He had a bunch of other tattoos, but the flag was the only colored in one. He must've been some kind of veteran from the Cold War and shit. (I was never good with history.) But as I walked by, the man turned to his other side to rest on his other shoulder. This hobo just put shame to a symbol that many of us take for granted, except for third graders who are still forced to say the Pledge of Allegiance every morning. It was as though he wanted me to see him rub the flag all on the grimy floor. I'm not too sure if it was his calling to be a fire engulfed monk, but something told me that I should have did him the favor. I reached in my pocket to grab my lighter, and luckily for the homeless man, I was out of fluid. I was going to make a fire with the bottle of water and used condom I had in my pocket, but I forgot to watch that tutorial video on making fire on YouTube, so I went along with my lunch break and had an ice cream, root beer float and some chocolate flavored Skittles. Yes, they have chocolate flavored Skittles and it was disgrossting. (That's disgusting and gross for those of you who ain't up on the latest Webster's Dictionary for Kids 10th edition.) Out of boredom, I tossed the rest of my Skittles one by one into the air while I walked through the crowded crosswalks back to work.

You may have won this battle, homeless flag desecrater, but there's still a war out there, in space. Somewhere between Neptune and the Pluto formerly known as a planet. You just wait.

04.13.08

It's amphigory, I tell you!!!

Friday night, I decided to bring my Nintendo Entertainment System to work because I knew I'd be coming into work one day this weekend to catch up and fix any and all errors that interns may have made to my TPS report cover sheets. I had put my battery operated, miniature black and white television on top of my Nintendo because, yes, it is that small. The only game I play is Dr. Mario, so I need not a widescreen, high definition, plasma fortification thingy, plus it's not a good idea to plug 3 power strips into a power strip, and I've definitely run out of sockets. Though it's the only game I have, the game gives me a sense of what it's like to have a degree in brain surgeonology and shit. On Saturday, I actually bought another game, Arkanoid. By far, one of my more favorite games while growing up.

I went to work today, Sunday, and what do I find? Some dumbass decided to glue my Dr. Mario game into my Nintendo. I can't pull the fucking game out of the entertainment system and now, my Arkanoid is going to join the artillery of desk furniture I've been collecting, some of which include a pair of scissors with no handles, some restaurant crayons from company sponsored lunches, and this half-full bottle of Fanta that I've suddenly become attached to. I don't know if I feel like dishing out an extra $50-$100 on the corporate card to buy another Nintendo, but if I did, I think I'd want to glue Arkanoid in there, once I got it to properly work, just so I could say I have a collection of Nintendo Game Systems. I guess I can't be too pissed off because I am now the proud, very first owner of a Dr. Mario Entertainment System. Thank you to whoever that was. Though, I'm not too sure who did it, I plan to get photocopy boy to photocopy a bunch of copies of my feet and maybe he'll decide to never remove his shoes at work unless he's wearing new socks. Then, vengeance will be mine.

On another note, my parents anniversary party ended up being a hoax. There was still a party and good times with relatives I hadn't seen in years, but there was no open bar. I got carded for the first time in ten years, and martinis shaken, not stirred costed me 18 bucks. I felt like James Bond Jr., only I didn't possess the proper judo chop skills to judo chop the bartender on the back of his neck to make him pass out. Probably because I only graduated to green belt with a pink stripe in Tae Kwon Do. Still, I consider myself a Kung Fu master.

I went to the movies last night. The first time since I was ten years old. And apparently, the theatre have manatee versions of films, and it's cheaper. Every movie had a manatee showing and that shit didn't make any sense to me. When the hell did manatees get popular and into movie theatres. I thought they only lived in the South Pacific and Wales. Not wanting to risk getting crushed by those sea elephant monsters, or whatever the hell they call them, I decided to not watch a movie and, instead, stay home to plan out my daily morning routine for Sunday. That didn't work out, either.

Something I think I might have learnded is that you can't plan the future and expect it to work out completely. You can plan the past, but you're not really planning it. You can't plan life and expect it to work out completely. But you sure as hell can plan death because death is certain, unless you're undeadable like a three-headed goat with human ears for legs and jumbo buffalo wings for feet. Speaking of three-headed, I'm hungry.

Three cheers for thinking ahead!

04.11.08

What in the googleheim is going on with my employer?!

Today, they gave the copy machine attendant his own desk. That got me madder than a mad scientist that's really mad. He's got to be related to the boss, or if not, blowing him every Thursday. And to make matters worse, today, Copy Machine Boy decided to make himself comfortable and take off his shoes. The only reason I'm complaining is because I had to smell feet all day. I swear. This guy must've been wearing the same pair of socks for the whole week because that shit wreaked more than a wreaking bunch of smelly stuff. I tried to give him scented toilet paper from the bathroom to insinuate the fact that his foot odor was bad, but he just acted surprised that the bathroom actually carries 3-ply toilet paper, which is very surprising, by the way. This guy has already left the office and I can still taste the flavor of feet in the air.

I think Gordon the security guard is about to get let go soon. I actually stopped by the first floor bathroom during my break and accidentally caught him puffing on a doobie. He offered me a hit, but I only smoke joints rolled in Bible paper. But, I can't really complain about him because he has a gun strapped to his side. So, enough of him.

I online ordered some new Pokemon cards and had them addressed to my job, so that my parents don't find out about the useless gift I got them. They are so going to think I'm an idiot when they open their anniversary gift, but I hope they'll realize that they're not just regular Pokemon cards, but Pokemon Diamond cards. They've been married for quite a while, but I hope they can appreciate the much thought I had put into it. Besides, those Pokemon cards I ordered were rare ones and costed me $600 a pop. Hopefully, none of those college graudate new-hires at work find out and try to rob me for my shit because I'm pretty sure they still collect those shits. I know how those thug kids are, especially with all that gang activity in the news. Life just ain't the same no more.

If a work of art is priceless, then give me that shit for free.

04.10.08

Blast that vile woman!

So it is official. Last night, I come home, expecting my home cooked dinner and naked wife waiting at my disposal, and what do i find? Divorce papers. No grilled steak on a plate. Just a stack of papers and some other lawyer bullshit. Realizing that she must've been tripping on LSD because paper looks nothing like steak and she knows that she should have my dinner ready after my long day of work, I decide to take a trip to the local pub to get shit-faced. I didn't bother to check if she was home, but I had about 29 beers and a few shots of cheap vodka. I'm not too sure how the hell I got home, but all I know is that after passing out on the couch, I woke up an hour later, still in my drunken stupor.

Outraged at the nerve of my wife wanting to divorce me, I head upstairs to the bedroom to see what the deally was. I began singing my drunk chants and ironically, found myself in an R. Kelly video. Well. Not exactly. But when I did get to the bedroom, there was a rubber on the floor, and with me singing, I almost felt I had a connection with R. Kelly, minus the peeing on little girls part. I was either grossed out by the rubber on the floor or my body was trying to prevent alcohol poisoning from taking over, I vomited more than a mother bird feeding her young while in a nest on a tree full of dead cats. All I'm hoping for is that she actually gives me some action for the first time before she runs away with her hotshot lawyer or lesbian biker friend. Whoever the hell it is.

Oh well. At least she won't be cramping my style anymore, making more room for me and my parents in this house. The only problem with her leaving is that I'll probably have to hire a maid to clean the bathrooms because I don't know how to do that shit. Dust Busters and Swifters can only get me so far.

Life is a bitch. And I need to introduce some lives to my dick.

04.09.08

Oh, great heavens to Mergetroy!!!

Today, they hired a new copy machine attendant. Not too sure what happened with the old one, Montana, but he was way cool, especially since they named a state after him. As for this new guy, it's the first day I meet him, and he just starts babbling on about his problems in life. For example, he's complaining about the disorganized pin board above his copier, complaining about how everyone, aside from himself, in the office gets their own stapler, and how people expect him to copy their kids' book reports for them. (Go write a blog about it!) And he hasn't even been working for more than 3 hours. He's not allowed to complain until he's been initiated by the OG's. The Office Gangstas. And why the hell did I introduce myself to him in the first place. I was just trying to be nice, but all of a sudden, I'm the only person he wants to talk to. And why does he think he's the hot shit? He doesn't even own a pocket protector or a .3 lead mechanical pencil. (Get your game up, new guy!) I'm sure he's just looking for a friend. He followed me on my lunch break to watched me eat. He followed me on my bathroom break to watch me pee. He even followed me on my "secret rendezvous with the semi-hot intern" break to watch me get action. I don't even know how he caught me going on that break. I think I may have to punch his eyes out to ensure that he doesn't witness any other wrongful behavior taking place in the work zone.

Speaking of the hot intern, I told that bitch not to wear granny panties on Wednesdays and what does she do? She wears granny panties. That shit pissed me off my blue laguna socks, and I wasn't quite turned on, but I gave it to her, anyway. Especially, since I have the authority to dismiss her from her daily duties. She'll do as she's told if she knows what's good for her. She better finish the rest of my TPS reports or I'll be in deeper shit than a black belt fly in a karate class full of shit. Or something within that range.

My metaphorisms teacher (That's right. I'm back in school, baby!!!) insists that I incorporate metaphors in my every day life, otherwise the universe may cease to exist, and I may never get to see the Pluto formally known as planet.


How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then rest afterwards. Gotta love life.

04.08.08

Such tomfoolery!!!

Sometimes I can feel myself getting dumber and dumber. The more my brain remains uncontested and unchallenged by the simplicities of life, the more I gets stupid. And I ain't talking about stupid-fresh or stupid-dope. I'm talking stupid-not fresh or dope. Sometimes I don't think I can survive in this world, but being that I'm still directly connected to the internet, I must be doing something right. Otherwise, I'd be out somewhere on a 14.4kbps connection. I remember when my modem was only 2400 bps, and pictures of playboy centerfolds took half an hour or longer to download. And that was just for one. Things like this are reasons why I thank the people for letting me be born a genius. It's a shame that, me attaining the highest geniosity level ever, I can only get dummer from here on out.

I've been working on my greatest project in the world since I was born, and once I complete it, I will have my arch-nemesists crawling on their knees to do my bidding. I'm going to invent some scientifical shit and discover the element soon to be known as The Thirteenth Element. I'll make sure that there are thirteen circular balls spinning around the globular central unit, and I'll win super deluxe prizes for it. I'll be like the next Ein Stein, only you won't be able to win my money, but I'll still wear cool suits with some neat skating shoes to make sure I get to work on time. Either way, some people may see my masterminded plan as evil or deviously...devious. When my" greatest project in the world since I was born" successes, I will only laugh at the weak attempts of those trying to beat my high score in Tetris. Be warned now.

Muwahahahahaha!!!

04.08.08

What the hedgehog is going on with my job.

How did I get written up for being late, but not get written up for calling up Santa's Christmas Song Party Line? (For those who'd like to sing along, it's 1-900-909-4300.) The past few days that I was in work, I've been living one of my many childhood fantasies by singing Christmas carols with good ol' St. Nick. I guess I can see now that singing Christmas carols at work well past Christmas season isn't means for getting written up. So, what the hell am I complaining about?

I'll tell you what I'm complaining about. I'm pissed off that that stupid squirrel tried to play chicken with me and lost. I'm pissed off that squirrel guts and squirrel fur are in my wheel well. That's probably why I got written up at work. Maybe next time, I'll lay off the liquor, and just put it in her. That'll teach her to never convince squirrels to sit under my tire when I'm singing Christmas songs.

Shit just don't make sense. I eat green, and it still comes out brown.

04.03.08

Damn you, stupid computer!!!

I'm tired of this piece of shit computer, breaking down on me every so often, setting its time back an hour every couple of days, making funny noises with the motherboard and fan, and any other bullshit troubles that this computer gives me. I want to break it in half, if only I wasn't such a weenie-man. I punched that computer one other time and ended up getting a cut on my knuckle, which grew to become an indentation after numerous scab pickings. I'm no satanist, but I sure as hell enjoyed giving myself that pain, even though I really hated the feeling of knuckle hurt.

On another complaint, I can't stand my next cubicle neighbor. This fucking bitch keeps correcting me on my English and grammar, like I don't know what I'm talking about. This fucking word/grammar Nazi must've failed to see my high school diploma hanging on the south side of my cubicle. I should point it out to her, but I'm not one to show off, unless it involves money or boobies. Being that neither of the two are at stake, it is pointless to argue with this dumb nerd-a-tron in the next cubicle. I'll just continue to make spitballs and shoot them at the ceiling tile above her, and hope they stick, only to fall months later. We're all stuck in this hellhole and I'm pretty sure she won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

And the boss is being a bitch, too. This fucking guy got rid of the doormat I had put in front of my cubicle entrance. He made some excuse about how it's some sort of a fire hazard. I don't get that shit. I'm here at work for more hours than I am at home, and I'm denied the right to homefy my office space. At least he didn't take notice of the mini-fridge I have under my desk and the beers stocked within. Though, I did notice that one beer was missing this morning. It must've been that cleaning lady, but all I need is proof. It's time I buy one of those fake video surveillance cameras to trick people into thinking that I'm watching their every movement when I'm not preoccupying my work box. It'll be my fake eye in the sky.

If big brother is watching, I hope he didn't just see me jerk off to that 2002 Sports Illustrated calendar.