9 out of 10 monkeys believe they are not behind glass

• Butt Monkey = like a trunk monkey, but it emerges hind ward with crowbar in hand to deal with adversarial people. #
• Note to self: find method for painless exit and re-entry of monkey. And sew a flap into all pants for successful exit. #

• My company needs to relearn the definition of "leverage". Like Inigo Montoya would say "I do not think it means what you think it means." #
• They say Leverage and spend an extra bucket of money. I say Leverage and spend zero. And if I heard the word Resource one more time… #
• … I will bust out more Princess Bride quotes and reduce any sane argument down to a hilarious diatribe on MAWIGE. #
• The darkness encroaches my headlights, looking back at me from the glass. No wonder Stephen King has written about evil cars. Yikes. #

Thanks, you cereal sick minded fuckers. Thanks a ton. You create these delectable, addicting, delicious crack cocaine flavors like Cookies n’ Cream, Turtle, etc… and then you foist them on an unwitting public with nary a wink or smile. Like you have a hand down our pants, fondling with who know’s what, while dryly commenting on the weather.

Stop pinching that, and yes, the weather has been particularly nice for October.

You dirty Chex bastards. I hope there is a special place in hell for you, where you will languish in depth-less pits filled with sweet chex mix at volcanic temperatures, where you gorge yourself for eternity while caramel and chocolate tears stream down your face and only multiply your miseries.

I know that I will never let my eye stray on upon your little bags of horrific caloric nightmare ever again. My wallet shall stay in my back pocket, and my will will never be partner to your dirty temptations. Because after taking it rough from your proffered temptations, I am feeling a little sore. Like “I can’t sit properly” sore.

Please, keep to selling your salty crap that only pregnant women like. The sweet stuff crosses some sort of line.

And it is offensive. To both my sensibilities and my waistline. …Damn it.

You want to know what is fun?

Grabbing your desk with both hands, then hammering your head against its veneered surface as hard as you can, until your head either phases through the solid matter of the desk, or the desk explodes into a billion shards.

Because honestly, my days are 10% work, and 90% pulling splinters out of my forehead.

I don’t know what is more depressing. The political posturing, the ostracizing attitude, or the culture of bullshit… they all have the same level of pain for me.

I wish I could effect some real lasting positive change. But I think I have been handed a bag of “don’t-even-bother.”