Can I tell you how incredibly painful it is to spend the entire day wallowing in a job that numbs the mind and body and not be rescued from this soul-sucking horror by even one email from people on the outside?
OK, well maybe one. Something about Old Gals. Filthy stuff.
I hate my email.
At this point I’d welcome a request for contributions to Howard Dean’s campaign. That would, at least, stir up some righteous anger and might even prod me into a visit to the message boards in order to lay out my intense displeasure at being pestered in such a foul, leftist manner. Actually, I’d give Dean five bucks if he’d call me up and do that way-cool YEARRRRGH thing on the telephone. It makes me laugh.
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