I’d also like to take this time to state that I would rather work as a janitor at Chernobyl that have to wake up Monday morning and report into work (you ever have one of those weeks?).
My secret dream is to either win the lottery, or have a previously unknown rich relative pass on to their great reward and leave his/her vast fortune to me. At this point in the story most people would say, “I wouldn’t even show up for work,” but not I. No sir. I’d come to work dressed in the appropriate attire, swing by the boss’s office, close the door, sit down in that uncomfortable chair in front of his desk and tell him in a matter-of-fact voice that, “I won the lottery. It’s been nice working here, but I’m giving you my two-weeks notice.”
Then I’d quietly stand up, walk to my cubicle, and begin to work like nothing was out of the ordinary.
I would be curious to see what would happen next.
But…until that time, there’s always Chernobyl (or its current equivalent).
After my near brush with death on the highway yesterday, I think I’m just going to lie back and take a moment to contemplate the meaning of it all. Come on…let’s all get Zen together:
I feel as if I’ve hit my weekly quota of nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs. I’m devoid of colorful metaphors, snappy catchphrases, and the odd melancholy retort. Lacking for tales, fables, and non-sequiturs, devoid of secrets, revelations, narratives and parables, I find myself bound in a straightjacket of plain vanilla monotony, unable to slip these dull shackles of disinterest. It pains me to have to concede that I have no points to make, opinions to inject, ideas to express, nor adventures to chronicle. In light of this sad circumstance, please accept my sincere apologies for my current depth of mediocrity.
I hope that this cat video brings you more enjoyment than today’s post:
See ya on Monday, when we’ll cover a strange combination of classic literature and the ballad of Mr. T.
If you’re reading this, chances are you’re in front of a computer.
It’s eerie how I know this, no? My powers of observation are almost uncanny…
Whelp, it’s finally Friday, and we all know what that means; time to get liquored up and do some stunts!
Man…I want to party with that guy! I can see it now. Yuri and I would go out on an all night bender, and in the morning put on our banana costumes and report to our court-ordered public service gig:
Afterwards, we’d jump on our bikes and make our way back to the bar for dollar beer night:
That’s the way we’d roll, Yuri and I… Happy Friday!
