Die, Chief of Information, Die!

Die, Chief of Information, Die!

My asshole motherfucking employer seems to have stopped me from accessing my personal email. Like, whatever. I don't even need gmail chat. I have myself, and my imagination. Imagination: the cornerstone of human endeavor. It's more powerful than an NFL linebacker. Probably less powerful than a Siberian tiger though.

Me: Damn, it's quiet here today.
Me: Oh, hey. Yeah, Sucks to be at work, but what the hell would I be doing instead?
Me: Good point. It's supposed to be in the upper 40's and rainy and it's not like I'm missing a football game. Shit, maybe I will be, better check...FUCK. Spartans start at 5PM.
Me: Have to get something down on that one.
Me: HAVE TO. But damn, betting on the Spartans would be foolish.
Me: Well, they beat a pretty decent Penn State team and almost beat Michigan. And BC is in the acc.
Me: But they're the Spartans! The Spartans are almost exactly like the Lions.
Me: You know how you were going to follow your 10 commandments of NFL betting?
Me: Uh, yes asshole.
Me: Just pointing out that you broke pretty much every commandment, multiple times.
Me: I guess I'm going to gambling hell when I die.
Me: Definitely. It's probably like, you constantly login to your account just too late to get your bet in before the game starts. Poof, off the board.
Me: No shit. Then the only game left to bet on is the Blue/Gray game or the McDonalds high school allstar basketball game.
Me: Yuck. I hate that shit. Brings out the scum of the earth. Dick Vitale, Mel Kiper Jr and others.
Me: Mel Kiper Sr should have pushed harder for abortion.
Me: Man, that's a bit harsh. Ouch.
Me: Probably. Oh well. I'm already going to sports gambling hell. Maybe if I'm a big enough asshole I'll get to go to regular hell instead.
Me: Say hi to Sean Taylor down there.
Me: You're coming too, pal.
Me: You know I didn't mean that.
Me: This conversation is making me uncomfortable, let's change the subject.
Me: Ok. Hey, remember that time when you didn't masturbate?
Me: Yeah. Sort of. I think the coffee's ready, and you need to take yourself to the owners box.
Me: That can wait - I'm trying to beat Bono's record. Good call on the coffee though. BIAS (back in a sec)
Me: Good coffee, Marv.
Me: You're so easy to talk to. Whoa, jimminy. BIAS GGTAS
Me: Don't forget to get the paperwork done.
Me: How much do you think crapping plays a part in a wrestler's attempts to "make weight"?
Me: Are you kidding? It's got to be huge.
Me: I guess you're right. Just imagine: You're a wrestler, and you're about one kuhrick away from making weight. You're about to give up, you're crying, when about five minutes before weigh-in, you have to take a massive crap. That's got to be such a great feeling!
Me: No shit. Lot of MC's (miracle covers) thanks to last second BM's.
Me: You sure talk about crapping a lot.
Me: You sure think about crapping a lot.
Me: Oh, here's something I've wanted to talk about: You know down in Florida at Mom and Dad's, how we always seemed to be subjected to some sort of programming with a strong sexual message?
Me: YES! So uncomfortable. That sports talk radio station...
Me: Holy shit, that was the longest fucking commercial I've ever heard.
Me: What was the name of that place?
Me: I can't remember. All I remember is that they have an extensive selection of lubes and hot oils.
Me: "The home of the rabbit, and the Five Minute Miracle".
Me: << shudder >>
Me: What about their selection of adult toys and lingerie?
Me: And lingerie models!
Me: HA! I really wish I was at that place right now.
Me: As long as Mom and Dad aren't in there too.
Me: Was that really fucking necessary? What a sick fuck you are.
Me: Sorry.
Me: You're right though, that place sounded pretty amazing.
Me: That was pretty bad, but how about the Blue Collar Comedy guys that night?
Me: Oh man. Can't they just make funny jokes about being a redneck and not about how when you're married you almost never have sex with your spouse?
Me: Seriously.
Me: I mean, that would be like if you were a big racist, and your wish of going back in time to hear Hitler speak was granted, and you're there, in this room with other racists, Hitler's speaking to everyone, passionately, but about how German automobiles are superior to American cars. It's like, well yeah, nobody's disputing that, buddy.
Me: You're a fucking moron. Nice fucking choice for an analogy.
Me: You don't even know what that word means.
Me: x-(
Me: Hey, when do you think you'll realistically have your credit cards paid off?
Me: I try not to think about that. I like to just take it one bet at a time, you know. Make plays.
Me: Seriously. Consumer debt sucks, let's get on that shit.
Me: I hear ya. I'm just hoping to maybe cut it in half by this time next year.
Me: Holy shit, I think you just made a New Years resolution.
Me: Wow, I guess you're right. Why couldn't I have just wished for rock-hard abs?
Me: Time for more coffee. BIAS
Me: Remember when KSK posted the chat session about the snake in the office?
Me: Oh yeah
Me: This is, ahem, very similar to that.
Me: Yes, but you didn't remember that post until well after this was started. Besides, they do the same damn thing, whether they know it or not.
Me: Yeah, like that Led Zep post. Or the Chris Mortenson thing.
Me: Who gives a shit, anyways. Nobody reads this shit.
Me: On that note, I guess it's time to do some work.
Me: Keep it real.