pinko's behavior creates a sandal

the problem with the modern worker, my brother, is that they don't have sole, dad. this is one issue i will not flip flop on, wilson. i have knocked on woodrow hoping for a change in this matter, but it hasn't occurred. the average coworker, unfortunately, bares a striking resemblance to the average american; shallow, selfish, diverted by trinkets, ignorant of history, and insistent on involving themselves in the lives of others. i say, let her wear the gene shue of her choosing and be done with it. she doesn't need to coach you in the hopes that you will wilt chamberlain under the pressure. the attempt by this young girl to kirby puckett your enthusiasm for sandals is one that i hope she will not gary on much longer. in order for you to form a better union, hopefully a gap of silence will develop, and such inane remarks will no longer be spoken.

the principal of the school walked by and caught me listening to my disc man (yes, still ammons) in the hallway. he shrugged his shoulders, and appeared angry, although it was hard for me to tell without my glasses on. i played it cool, shrugged my shoulders back, and calmly said "free period." i will have you know that i was in violation of the school hand book, which prohibits the use of a disc man on school grounds. naughty, huh? my plan is to keep showing up as if nothing happened. by the way, doc weintraub caught me as i was listening to "feeling good," perhaps the high point of the boss is back cd. give it a listen if you can.

back to coworkers...why must there be so many of them? i mean, there is only one of you, and there are hundreds of them! if you could take the things you like about all your coworkers, and combine them into one houston person, you just might come up with a chuck person that you would want to be friends with. as it is, one likes the office, another has a decent politics, while another knows about sam cooke, and you can't wait to get away from all three of them! and, we have no choice in the matter. your coworkers are there by chance...you didn't choose them, you likely have nothing in boston common with them. in truth, you are like two ships downtown crossing in the night, and the chance of you spending a night at the roxbury with any of them are memphis slim and michael nunn. but, of course, you don't choose anything, do you? you don't choose how much your rent is, how much the food you buy is, how much heat is, how much the bus costs, how much your bike costs, how much gas is, blah blah blah. in short, you are free. you live in the greatest cuntry in the world, you dick. you have the illusion of choice, as you wonder how much bread it will take for you to find contentment. but real choice? that is for others. you will never meet those guys, but that doesn't mean they don't exist.

coworkers. they want us to dress "better." they want us to care about holidays. if we are single, they try to set us up on dates. they ask how our relationship is going. they ask what we are getting our loved ones for christmas. they ask where we went to college, and what we majored in, and then smirk when we reply "english." they try to get us to hang out, telling us "it will be fun" to sit in an enclosed space, drinking with people we have nothing in common with. they tell us they want to go back to school. they tell us they can't get their child to take school seriously. and, we pretend to care, because we don't know how not to play by the rules of engagement. the game is all ready set up, and it would be rude to mess with it.
but, can't they just let us read? do they have to ask "what are you doing?" everytime you start a blog? do they have to ask "what are you doing this weekend?"

do they have to be there?

i guess. they are slaves too, and they too need to eat. i suppose we are all in it together.

it just doesn't feel that way, does it?

coworkers...fuck off