Tuesday, August 14, 2007

...on office space

so the bastard is only going to do this one more time. who the hell am i kidding? i'm going to do this every time i get pissed off at my office situation

every time.

ad nauseam.

til i get sick of it.

and then i'll move the fuck on and complain about something else. don't like it? you know where to go shiteyes.

so needless to say it is like the old indian in hanta yo. an old man , or rather, a tribal elder tells our hero that he is done with this world. he is going up to the mountain to die and spend eternity with the great spirit. our hero tells him, he is not going to die and lo and behold, this old man goes up on top of the mountain and dies. he dies because he wills it so. it can also be looked at like a self fulfilling prophecy. the man predicts his own death, only to will himself dead.

a similar thing happened this week. last week, the velvet hammer predicted that this week she would arrive in our new space to find that it had turned into a shanty town. and lo and behold ...it is. so as i had complained earlier about the uncertainty of whether i'd be getting that properly fits my station in life, i'll let you off the hook. no i didn't. i'll also let you off the hook about whether i'm happy about it or not. no, i'm not. and there's no way i will be. it's like K-stuff says., "no matter how you slice it, a shit sandwich is still made of shit".

—the bastard

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