2003-02-21

And the day started out so well. Sigh. I managed to muster up something resembling decorum last night and left the pub after my third pint, so this morning I have only the merest hint of a hangover � a whispered promise of things to come, if you will. And of course, it�s Friday, the universal bringer of laziness at work; and to top it all off, the temperature here has nosed above zero for the first time in months, sending me into paroxysms of joy at the bus stop this morning as I removed my mitts because they were TOO WARM. All benevolent portents, or so it would seem.

But no, a day of light-hearted slacking off is not to be. I�m going to have to claw and crawl my way to the sweet payoff of five o�clock, scraping my sanity down to a frittered nub along the way. Fucking FUCK! I�m going to have the words �I�m not your assistant, fucktard� and �Not my FUCKING JOB, cuntbag� tattooed across my forehead in point form like a flesh-mutilating PowerPoint presentation. I�ll have to use a pretty small font, naturally, but that works to my advantage because my brainless colostomy sacks of coworkers will have to lean in to read it, allowing me to headbutt them square across the bridge of the nose with only the slightest nod. And as the blood from their shattered faces drips like a gore faucet on my shoes, I�ll enjoy my first real smile of the day.