It's annual performance review time at the moment. That may or may not have had something to do with yesterday’s somewhat dark stream of consciousness.

I took a pay drop of about $20,000 to leave my last career and do what I do now. I’m still thousands short of what I consider to be my bare minimum for doing what I do do now. Or don’t do, as the case may be …

At last year’s performance review, my hard work as a professional sock-monkey wrestler was rewarded with a bare-minimum inflationary rise.

So I simply adjusted my work effort to match my take-home pay.
If I did any less these days I’d be in a coma. At one stage, I think my heart may have even stopped beating for a couple of minutes.
I rarely shave. I dress like a hobo. I’m always late, but never running late. I take long breaks. I leave early. I don’t have deadlines. Life is cruisey.
In fact … hang on – this job is actually starting to sound good. It sorta sounds like my ideal job…

Anyway.
Apparently my boss is leaving my review for last.
Is it a good sign when they say they need to arrange to have all sharp objects removed from their office first?

Watch this space...

The advert for my job said something like: “Work with great team.”
I now know this meant “… of sock monkeys”.

It also made some reference about putting “Graphic arts skills to good use”.
And I have. Photoshopping gimp masks onto cow-orkers faces...

For example: One of my managers recently, innocently and unaware, gave a product presentation to some important clients. At the end, she played a little game where she asked a series of technical questions, including:

“I am the length I am for optimal performance. Why can’t I be longer?”

“I am flexible in some places and very stiff in others. Why am I stiff down here?”

“I am long and moist. What should you put in me?”

“I am flashing. What can you do?”

What makes this all the more hilarious is that this manager, bless her, has no idea what the terms "double entendre", or "sexual innuendo" mean. She has no idea what is wrong with those questions.

And she thought the customers were laughing with her, not at her.

Bless.

Gotta go. One of my cow-orkers has just pointed out that I have this big freakin pimple on the side of my neck and she’s threatening to come over here and squeeze it. Puhleez.

(You can still get pimples at my age?)

God wouldn't give us floorboards if it wasn't his will.

Everyone has skeletons in their crawlspace.
Some cover the floorboards with expensive wool carpet and act all innocent like nothing ever happened
But, when the officers execute their search warrant,
the smell always gives them away.
Always ...

Your only chance is
gasoline, a stolen car
and a fire truck that gets there ten minutes too late.

Don't talk to your cellmate
he'll cut a deal with the pigs.
Keep your back to the wall...

Forget about the past:
It is history.
Ashes and dust
in the boot of a burned-out car;
a few feet beneath the floorboards;
or buried behind blankets at the back of the closet,
Perhaps.