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October 30, 2002
I hate my job; hate it, hate it, hate like nuzzles from Dom Deluise against your sunburned thighs, paralyzing hatred, scratch on your 45rpm of "The Gambler" hatred, I cannot think clearly when I am here and am foggy when I go home. Hatred. People will say that I have hated jobs before and attempt to establish some manner of track record for me hating jobs, thereby suggesting that the blame lies with me for inability to cope with jobs, but fuck that reasoning, because if you take their side then you are no friend of mine, because much like a select few of my previous jobs, the epic, reasoned, furious hatred I feel for this job assumes the shape of art, and you might as well tell Georges Seurat that he's already done a painting of French people at rest, you pissant.

But; there are popcorn stinkbombs, a small sacrifice. 50 cents pays for a bag of microwave popcorn, and a few seconds' labor takes it on a walk around the office. It's remarkable how vivid and long-lasting the smell of burnt popcorn is. It takes at least two hours to disappear completely in a building with no air circulation like this one. Yesterday, I was sad about my burnt popcorn. Today, it was a retaliatory gesture. Pipe down, fuckers. I can get pettier than this.

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October 23, 2002
Are you having a good ROCK-tober? There is only a week left. We must seize these days; now is the time when we must solo, but we must not forget to return to the three chords from whence we began before November dawns, lest we spend an entire year trapped soloing, condemned to prog rock fusion noodling and suffering entreaties from Chick Corea until the hallowed month comes around again and we can bring this fucker back home. Let all young monsters of rock beware.

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October 22, 2002
There is a new guy at work by the name of Julius. The name is not at all appropriate for him, and I feel obligated to strip him of it and apply the name to someone else who for whom it is more fitting. Sadly, in this office, there is no one who qualifies. I could be Julius, but shit is complicated enough already.

(cereal box)
Are you cheering for rainforests, even when nobody is looking?

Are you prepared to talk to your parents, schoolteachers and even government officials about how important it is for rainforests to be saved for Kidz in future generations?

Is there a spark of hope in your eye that something can be done by Kidz to save endangered animals in the Amazon?

Congratulations!
You're an EnviroKidz!

I am not sure that I have ever seen a gorilla as profoundly deranged as the gorilla in the picture on the left. He is going to eat the fuck out of that cereal and derive a primal sexual satisfaction from doing so. That much is certain. At this point, everything else is mere conjecture. ("Even when nobody is looking?")

I have not had Gorilla Munch, but Orangutan-O's are okay.

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October 21, 2002
Some readers may be wondering which of my kidneys I plan to sell in order to acquire the new fighting Japanese monsters video game for the GameCube. The answer to that question is "the left one, because I have had enough of its loafing."

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October 18, 2002
On my way to work, I passed a parked car with a bumper sticker that read

JESUS ES EL SENOR

And I had to marvel at the way certain things look better in Spanish.

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October 1, 2002
While freestyling idly in the elevator this morning, I made the pleasant discovery that 'my genius' and 'convenient' can be rhymed effectively. Armed with this knowledge, I sort of hoped to encounter a sucker emcee on the way to my cubicle -- but I encountered only Terri, who orders office supplies.

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