(no subject)

[gh0stlymemories]

Here at work, there is a great dearth of food and water. Now I find this to be quite ironic seeing as how we get 12 cases of Poland Spring delivered into our clutches every other week or so; not to mention the fact that I bring my own water in daily. It seems there is a thief amongst us but, that isn’t all. To figure it all out, we would have to analyze the people whom I work with. The truth is I still would not be able to narrow any one particular subject down because they are all filthy, rotten, water thieving, scoundrels. Regardless of my efforts of marking the cap, tearing off the label, or opening the bottle and sipping some before placing it in the black hole of arid refrigeration, the bastards manage to work up the temerity, in the middle of my stressful work day, to go into the kitchen 10 feet from my desk, and pilfer my cold, refreshing, top-notch H2O. This problem is worse than Enron in all its incredulous fraud & corruption glory. What can the common man do when his fancy water is being abducted into the hands of all evil and poured into the belly of the beast, never to return to light as what it once was. Why must we suffer the echoes of dirty pop music infiltrating our ears, set forth by the very same thirsty kidnappers who would be content with allowing the fellow man to go without proper nourishment to withstand our headache as is. They are not taking an infantile source however, they are taking my truly beloved hydro (the only type of shit Adam Sandler would turn over in his grave for), and they are selling it on the black market of dehydrated soul snatching. The dichotomy of good and evil doesn’t exist in the work place. There is only one single manifestation of good in the coyly crunched cubicles; only one glimmer of hope, and one magnificent relieving quality in this desert of occupation. The long island power authority cutting the air as if it were a hot knife in butter does not even rob me of the joy I get from knowing about this one shining light. The chatter of ignorant house wives with their part time jobs and firefighter husbands does not cloud my head when pondering with such clarity. I know where the upper hand lies. They may be taking my water, but I have learned to be happy about it. No anger, no frustration, just an inner calm that ensues every time I reach behind the shelf and realize someone has done it again, they found my secret spot and my loyal liquid greatness. What gives me this settled feeling you ask? Knowing that every bottle marked with black marker is in a dwelling other than my own… getting downed by a retched soul, instead of satisfying my ultimate crave for a wet pallet… How could I be content? Two words… back wash.

It’s times like these I wish I had the Herp to spread over the waves of foolish worker bees.