random thoughts upon exiting

Bouquets of flowers just make me sad. That, and the allergies they provoke. I can't keep them going--a day later, they're a sad wilted bunch melting into mold and smelling funny.

Potted plants are better. It takes longer to kill them, and I feel like they had a better shot at life as I throw them in the bin with the cut flowers and the tub of hummus I never get around to finishing.

modestly proposing...

I’m not saying that it’s a rational impulse, the wish to murder someone who pronounces ‘here’ as ‘hnun-yheah.’ Even if they start and end every sentence with ‘hnun-yheah.’

But common sense dictates, to keep the population at a sustainable number, a reasonable licensed hunting season. Say, September through April—enough to stock the deep freezer with hnun-yheah steaks and hnun-yheah bratwurst through barbequing season.

Most of my father’s duck callers would need only minor modifications: hnun-yheah! hnun-yheah!

Hey, pods! Come and get me you scum!

This is the second day of the new job at the old office. It had seemed to be going pretty well until this afternoon, which is when my erstwhile trainer went into full meltdown because the backlog she’s put off for three weeks isn’t done. Every time I’ve approached her since to either a) report I’ve finished part of the backlog or b) ask to borrow the office diary in order to complete another part of the backlog, she’s been one notch down from the full Sutherland:



Soooooooo…I make this face a lot:



And hope I won’t wake up tomorrow next to a pile of dust looking like this: