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The White Noise. The smell of melting plastic and ink baking on paper. Constant grabass. Ah, banished to the bindery. No sooner did I walk into the building, today, then I was informed that I was expected to help out with some supposed rush job, polybagging an ungodly collection of printed crap for the real estate "industry." An ass that certainly needs kissing, in this area. After all, why not cash in... right? Just for showing peoples' homes, these cats make heaps of money thanks to the NoVA ratrace. See if this makes sense: you can sign a contract to have a home built for $250K... while construction is underway, someone can build in the lot next to you, same house... and it'll cost them $300K. Two weeks later. How fucked up is that? And they ask me why I live amongst the bugs and flies. Where all of the usual bindery personnel disappeared to, I have no idea. And I have no clue who put MechaStreisand in control of my fate, bindery-wise. Prime example of elevating someone to a position to which they are ill suited. You know the type. Ex-slut (I know WAY too much about her past and favorite positions... since the pressman she was "dating" at the time wasn't discrete, to the extreme), loves to make herself look good by belittling others, will have you fired if it suits her. Brings out the Character Assassin in me. Agent 00-Soul will mess you up! Kung Fu Bitch Slap! Oh, some good news... free tickets to Sunday's American LeMans race in DC. Along the shores of the luxurious Anacostia. I can just taste the bratwurst... with a whiff of Blue Plains Sewage Treatment Center as garnish. Ooo... Wee. It'll make exhaust fumes and powdered brake pads seem like perfume. Enough bitching. This is how interesting this day is going to get. Come back tomorrow night and do it again. |
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