All Dead Here

I’ve been slowly recovering from a brutal summer cold, but am still planning on going to Gonzofest at the Flying Dog Brewery on Saturday.  Though, right now, my sinuses are still fighting insurgents in South Ossetia, so I might just end up watching Snuff Box in my apartment.  My friend, who’s all gung ho for Gonzofest, doesn’t know that I’m planning to downgrade on Saturday.

Well…I guess he does now.

I caught the cold from a co-worker, who has refused to take time off.  He’s been coming in snuffling, hacking, and pretty much looking and sounding like death.  Yesterday, he announced to everyone that he had been diagnosed with pneumonia… On Tuesday the second!  So he’s been coming in here for a week, coughing up his lungs, sweating through a fever, running at the nose and everywhere else imaginable, and just wandering amongst us. He said he figured it was something like pneumonia as early as August 27th… And I showed the first signs of this cold on the 30th.  Now, most of the staff is coughing and sneezing.  Two people have a high fever… Of course, they’re all working.  Why is everyone working?  If this were Wall Street, it’d make sense.  Work through the pneumonia!  Buy!  Sell!

But, no, this is an idiot NPO job.  Typhoid Mary himself has 200 hours of leave time.  And this is the sort of company where, if you said you were taking all 200 hours at once, they’d say okay and you’d still have a secure job to come back to.  Hell, I usually take off six weeks a year without the leave to back it up and they say okay.

And there’s nothing important that we do here.  I finish my required tasks in half an hour.  If I wanted to be an A-1 employee, top of my game, hero of the department, it might take two hours.  Maybe.

So what the fuck?  Go home, pneumonia boy!  The only possible reason for him coming in is that he wants to kill everyone, and possibly himself.  Some elaborate murder-suicide pact.

Or maybe he has a troubled home life?  But, really, if home sucks so much that you come to work while at death’s door, then it’s time to leave your family.  Go out to Arizona and start a handyman/septic cleaner business.  Only answer to a ridiculous false name.

The name I’ve chosen is El Diablo Porsche Fiat.  But I don’t have a family to run away from.  I go home alone every day.  Several people have recently told me that my life is unhealthy and I need a family.  I can “only heal myself through children.”  Seriously… That’s unsolicited advice I’ve received in response to that article about me.  That and the people who can’t read who think I’m still in pain and running an ice cream empire.  I’ve had four or five people talk to me along those lines.

All I really wanted was to make money and get laid.  That’s all I’ve ever wanted.  Money, sex, and an unlimited budget to buy shit off my Amazon wish list.

Speaking of which – today’s the anniversary for 9/11!  And you can honor it by visiting my wishlist.  Because if you don’t support the consumer culture, then the terrorists win.  And you don’t want that, do you?  All those people in the Towers and on the planes and in the Pentagon didn’t die so you could ignore my wishlist.