There's flooding down in Texas...

All of the telephone wires are down. And I've been trying to call my baby, Lord and I can't get a single sound.

Plagiarism of the Day
Who sang that? Think about it, and think about those lines. Mm. That's some good shit, right? Excellent song by a most excellent man.

I just got back from physical therapy. My back feels so much better these days.

In celebration of employee appreciation, my great employer, the United States Government, gave me gifts FAR GREATER than any bonus, or increase in pay could ever bring. After all, a bonus only lasts for as long as you spend it. And an increase in pay only makes you learn to expect a higher standard of living. I mean, these are useless. What about the gifts that keep on giving?

A penlight with an almost-dead battery, a fun-size pack of Lifesavers, and a pencil--these say that I'm a VALUED EMPLOYEE. They even came in a special envelope; they used the CONFIDENTIAL - INTEROFFICE MAIL envelopes, rather than using the regular envelopes. Christ on a crutch! And that almost-dead battery--somehow more pathetic than a fully-dead battery. The dead battery has already given up, while the fresh battery is still too new to know any better. The almost-dead battery...well, that's me.

My God. I'd feel far better if they didn't try insulting me with these cheap gifts. I'd prefer to be told, "Ryan, you're a piece of shit. Here's 50 bucks (or 35 bucks, even). Go fuck yourself."

Big News
After months of slacking off and talking about how I spend most of my time at work fucking around, I was finally hauled into my manager's office today. My manager walked to my desk as I was sending some friends some email and said, "Ryan, I need to see you in my office."

I tried negotiating with her, of course. "What. Now?"

"Yes, NOW." Very emphatic.

"Kind of busy here, Lilly."

"NOW."

So, I went in there and took my penlight with the almost-dead battery with me. "I brought this penlight with me for moral support," I told her. She had no problems with that.

"Ryan, you didn't remind me to give you your performance review."

"No, ma'am," I said. "I'd prefer not to hear it. Can I go now?"

"No. Here." And she handed it to me. My Annual Union-Approved Bargaining Unit Employee Performance Evaluation.

I looked at it. "Uh...Is that bad?"

"No. You actually scored as high as was possible in every single category."

"Oh..." I was somewhat confused. For the duration of my time at my job, I watched everyone else working 45, 50, 60 hour weeks. Me? No more than 40 hours, and sometimes less (due to sick leave). 4:45 PM? In the middle of work? Shutdown that computer and get the fuck out of here. But I forgot to save my work! Doesn't matter. I'll do it all over again tomorrow, and STILL GET PAID THE SAME, because that's the beauty of government salary employment. I took my NTEU sanctioned breaks while my colleagues worked through theirs. I took my 45 minute lunches while my colleagues worked through theirs. When they didn't, they'd discuss work at lunch. Me? "Listen, guys. I'm trying to eat. I can't digest my food if you talk about work." I take more sick leave than probably anybody else in the office, and I already have a lengthy Hawaiin vacation planned. I have a stack of work I intentionally am ignoring until the manager yells at me for not doing it. "Gee, thanks," I told her.

And then we discussed the coming reorganization. I'm a popular man in these here parts. All the managers want Ryan in their workgroups. Ryan, he's a go-getter. Ryan, he's full of laughs. Ryan, he sings '70s blaxploitation songs on Friday afternoons ("He's a bad mother- Shut yo' mouth! I was just talking about Shaft! Then we can dig it! Who is the man, that will risk his life for his brotherman? SHAFT! Right ooooon..."). I'm a hot commodity, and managers are fighting over me. My manager wants to keep me, while the manager of group 1B wants me. And 1C wants me, too. The manager of 1D doesn't even know me, but has heard about me and my screwing around and has expressed interest.

I am your tax money at work. Or really, your tax money fucking around and still getting paid. How does this make you feel?

IT'S HOT AS BALLS OUTSIDE, by the way. It's hotter than a desert whorehouse in summer. And it's supposed to get worse. SHIT!