Intelligence

811/2009

I can’t believe that we are having a 60 minute meeting to discuss this. This should be a 2 minute process. My c-hole ex is talking now and hurting my brain because she thinks a plural is a planet. She just said something not funny and everyone but me laughed out of courtesy. Pet Peeves: her, meetings, my life. I need a beer, now. Right now. I have 6 warm coronas on my desk. Should I drink 1? or 2? I think I’ll put them in the fridge and drink them while I drive to the pub where I will drink more. Somebody please call me so I can leave. Help me. People cannot possibly think I am taking real notes. I don’t care. I wish they would stop talking. C-hole is talking now. I miss her and I mask that pain by talking shit. I’m going to hell. Now this other girl I mated with is talking. She is so stupid. Isn’t there a dish somewhere looking for its rag? If I gave her a brain, she would have 1 brain. The combined intelligence of everyone in this room, not counting me, makes my brain hurt. That guy in the blue shirt is pretty bright. Everyone but he and I are non-smart. The party pics came out nice. Glen should re-post his craigslist ad and put, “seeking non-chunky and non-ugly.” haha I crack myself up. C-hole just said something lame and the only one that laughed was her. She just did it again. They thrive on chaos. They are talking about a process that should take 5 minutes. The way they want to do it will take 5 hours. C-hole just suggested a process that would triple my workload. My manager shot her down. Go Timmy, it’s your birthday. Mercifully, it ends. Beer time.

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