Blah, blah, blah. This is one of those days that, for no concrete reason, I want to smash my head into a wall, just for shits and giggles. It would be a change of pace from sitting here, trying to think of things to keep myself amused within the confines of Acceptable Work Behavior, which is (coincidentally?) the exact opposite of everything Little Debbie usually engages in. This job is not a good fit for me; I've even told my boss that. It's kind of like George Carlin working for the Nixon administration. (DISCLAIMER: I am in NO WAY comparing my measly comedic abilities to that of George Carlin. Any similarity between the Nixon administration and Dicks 'N Balls is strictly apropros.) To add to my discomfort, my boss got married over the weekend and since he came back to work, none of his emails have made sense. I guess that's the effect sex has on Republicans. I usually find it gives me a sense of clarity. (Which would explain the lack of clarity in my blog. L) But I digress. . .
Oh, yeah, work. It sucks. But, in my old age, I have become fond of shelter and transportation and food, well, not food so much as beer, and, unfortunately, one cannot buy beer at Tom & Jerry's by reciting a kick-ass Ethel Rosenberg monologue. So I work. And by work, I mean sit here and try to figure out what my boss meant by, "few t food choices for them". And wish I had that much sex.