Cockroaches

They say that cockroaches can survive in almost any environment.  When I was a kid, I remember hearing how, after a nuclear holocaust, there will be nothing left on earth, other than cockroaches.  The nasty little fuckers will rule the planet.

So, aside from a crunchy squish, one would imagine that, offing a roach would be a difficult task.

Unless you're the guy in the office next to mine.

What's the point?

I work 15 to 20 hour days, 7 days a week, for months.  Why?
After sitting here, my ass slowly fusing to the chair under me, for weeks on end, I decided it was time to figure out what I'm going to owe on Monady.

Big fucking mistake.

Rest In Peace

It is with great sadness that I type these words out.  Today, April 12, 2011, Floogin McNoogin passed away after a long fight with an ever increasing pile of shit on his desk.  He worked 15 to 20 hours a day, 7 days a week, since February, only to come to the sad realization that there was no fucking point.  Nobody was grateful.  There was no medal to be had, no slap on the back, not even a hair toussling "good job."

So, he did the only thing he knew to rid himself of the never ending work.

He's threw every last fucking piece of paper from his window and then, after the pile was relocated, he doused himself in alcohol, and ignited his whithered frame before leaping out the window, onto the pile.

Fortunately, it was raining and the water and wind combination snuffed the flames and the soggy pile of paperwork cushioned his fall, allowing him to escape from a 20 floor tumble, physically unharmed.

Sadly, as he staggered from the pile, smiling with the knowledge that, perhaps, there is a god and that there are good things in store for him, he was run over by a city bus and, thanks to the well moving flow of traffic, several other cars managed to crush his corpse before it was discoverd that he was smeared all across 34th street.


Floogin was a good man.  A great father and a decent, at best, husband.