TG-Fuckin’-IF. Yeah, two whole weekend days coming and no meetings in sight. It’s almost getting to where I don’t want to have a conversation, since that’s practically a meeting, isn’t it?

While talking out one situation, though, I realized that in the meeting I was most feeling stab-by at this week, I sodomized myself, metaphorically speaking. Instead of handing in the proofreading and corrections I had done for “our team,” I let myself be convinced that I should let the upcoming executive power broker I bitched about below hand the information in for me. D’OH!

Yay, me! In the first meeting with the new Chief Administrator, long may she rein (safe in a cocoon of blissful ignorance), in this the meeting as the queen ascends the throne, I let some one else provide her the shit I did, signing the card from “us,” I’m sure. Tip to anyone out there with a job with, say, a heirarchy and the possibility of figurative anal rape-age: Always hand in your own work. Don’t help the wicked or dim to steal from you. Yup, I left my front door open with arrows pointing to my stereo, and guess what? No more tunes.

I wonder why I find it more fun making spoof ads than going into work. Cartoons are more fulfilling. My job must be really, really good.