augh, what is that fucking smell? oh, i know, natural gas. there is a leak somewhere in the flophouse: may be here, may be elsewhere, who cares. tried lighting the pilot lights (that have been out since 03, lol, and because it's a brilliant idea to light pilots when you think there may be a gasleak...), but that didn't work well. whatever, if this place goes up, pjdownunder, you can have a nice watch of mine, i recall you mentioned a watch months ago. put it on ebay, take the proceeds from it, and come to nyc to be with your friend here. mancat, remove the porn before marge cleans the rubble. e.i.c., take the porn from mancat. all the others: claw each others' eyes out.
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so, those annoying motherfuckers at work decided to NOT give me the promotion for which they told me to apply. credit where credit is due (as said by this annoying entitled little fuck): the promotion did go to a 'stronger candidate' than i. i have to say, no contest, she deserved it, and i'm happy, sincerely, for her. did the personality deformed midget in 'human resources' have to leave the message on my fucking voicemail? to be determined. but then if she were qualified to do anything real, she wouldn't be in h. r., now would she...?
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today was a loverly liquid lunch with a company director (i'm impune to aaaaaaaaaaaaaany 'were you drinking yesterday? no sir!' comments.) it was nice to catch up with the two coworkers i like and have a lovely lunch. of COURSE, as this would only happen to me, it was our treat for the company director, as he took us out last time, so big daddy spent, oh, far too fucking much money on lunch. but, next one on him at his club, and it's a small price to pay toward navigating the political vespiry that is the asylum. the club, 'tom, my boy, you need to wear a coat and tie, just like today. and you, young lady, are only allowed on the third floor. you'll probably see henry kissinger; he luncheons there every day if he's not at the four seasons.' should be a blog entry, i'll keep you posted.
