The thin line between an honest day’s work and exploitation

Grumble.  Look at me complain!  I do it well, so I will continue.  I chose the job I have, and I can leave it whenever I want, I suppose.  But I’ll still complain that there’s too much to do that I wouldn’t have to do if the people around me weren’t brain-dead.  Okay, that’s an oversimplification.

SOME of the people around me are brain-dead.  And some just don’t care any more so they coast along.  Along the coast.  How much can I change this here prose before I’m talking about something completely unrelated?

Let’s find out!

Point of fact: Brains can leap out of skulls and fly.  Don’t go looking for proof on this one, just trust me.

Point of fact: My parents’ cat meows in syllables.  He says “Meow-ow” quite a lot.  Also, he says “Meow-ow-ow” and Meow-ow-ow-ow” too.  When he is annoyed that people aren’t paying the proper attention to him, he sometimes howls like a coyote.

Point of fact: What the fuck did I do to my back?  On Sunday night, I must have “slept on it funny”.  Odd, because I didn’t fucking sleep much.  I was unconscious, sure, but there wasn’t a lot of actual sleep going on.

Have I ever bragged about how good I am at sleeping?  Well, if you’ve missed it before, then hear this now.  I sleep good.

But that’s not something worth bragging about.  I stack boxes really neatly at my job.  I remember a year ago, when I was really busy with another HUGE project at work that’s basically all I fucking did.  And wrap pallets.

Fuck!  It didn’t work!  I was trying to change the subject and now I’m talking about fucking work again!

Well, tonight I will derail and ‘splode my thoughts about work by having another Phone Sex conversation with one of the lovely and talented ladies available on NiteFlirt.  I haven’t done that in a while, because 1) I’ve been too fucking busy and tired and 2) I’ve been taking muscle relaxants before bed, so I’m dizzy and incoherent during a time when ideally I’d be giving orders to a pretty female android and telling her to get busy with similar machines.

But I must wait for one of these ladies to “get on” as they say, before I can, as they say, “get off”, as they say.

Looking at the NiteFlirt website now, I see some attractive choices, but the ones I really want to play with the most aren’t currently on.  Sigh.

So I will drink tea and wait.  And read.  Yeah.  I’ll read news until I get too fucking depressed about the sorry state of this horrible planet.  To quote the Canadian comedy duo MacLean and Maclean: “Life’s a cunt… this lousy fucking planet!”