gargwtf
Total coverage...yes...right...insane amounts of work. This is not something I'd advise your CHILDREN to read, ma'am.
Never in a million fucking years would I hail myself as one to carry the burden of an insane workload that should only be handled by crazed yaks in ancient Egypt, but yet, here I am, wandering and wondering...or is it wondering and wandering....right?! No, nono...there's going to be none of that here because we have ZERO TOLERANCE now, and that's the Way It Is now, and if you don't like it, the FBI or the goddamned fuckheads in the Department of Homeland Insecurity will come to your house to roast your balls with a 10,000-volt taser, because you probably hate America and want al-Queda to overthrow the government and parade around the White House defiantly holding their cocks while waving them in a festive manner at Dick (AHAHA, "DICK") Cheney.
Right?! Right?! No, not right, you see....I sit here grilling away and feeling my brain cells fly out of my ears while loud music blasts the unholy shit out of them and somehow I can still concentrate. Nevermind the fact that I have a gigantic deadline breathing down my neck, and his name is Tomorrow at Noon, and so far we're not getting along very well. The Seattle Times cracks the whip, and I do its bidding, for that, my friends, is who I am. And this is the fifth story I'm churning out from them right now...well...actually, the more appropriate term at this rather frantic and frenzied time would be more akin to "avoiding" rather than "writing" in any particular sense.
This week has been a fucking roller-coaster, and if I don't somehow emerge alive from this hailstorm of journalistic fury, I will most certainly head up to the roof with an automatic weapon and fire it blindly into the air while screaming like a banshee about Peak Oil and Jihads and how bad the Dodgers sucks and why I can't find my fucking pants....
Maybe it's time I put the keyboard away for a while and took a walk, yes? Who knows, the fresh air might kill me at the rate I'm sucking down energy drinks and sweating over this final story in the week of a disturbed Times reporter....there is no real way to tell how I could react now, but rest assured I need to slay this bitch of bitches before it's too late.
Never in a million fucking years would I hail myself as one to carry the burden of an insane workload that should only be handled by crazed yaks in ancient Egypt, but yet, here I am, wandering and wondering...or is it wondering and wandering....right?! No, nono...there's going to be none of that here because we have ZERO TOLERANCE now, and that's the Way It Is now, and if you don't like it, the FBI or the goddamned fuckheads in the Department of Homeland Insecurity will come to your house to roast your balls with a 10,000-volt taser, because you probably hate America and want al-Queda to overthrow the government and parade around the White House defiantly holding their cocks while waving them in a festive manner at Dick (AHAHA, "DICK") Cheney.
Right?! Right?! No, not right, you see....I sit here grilling away and feeling my brain cells fly out of my ears while loud music blasts the unholy shit out of them and somehow I can still concentrate. Nevermind the fact that I have a gigantic deadline breathing down my neck, and his name is Tomorrow at Noon, and so far we're not getting along very well. The Seattle Times cracks the whip, and I do its bidding, for that, my friends, is who I am. And this is the fifth story I'm churning out from them right now...well...actually, the more appropriate term at this rather frantic and frenzied time would be more akin to "avoiding" rather than "writing" in any particular sense.
This week has been a fucking roller-coaster, and if I don't somehow emerge alive from this hailstorm of journalistic fury, I will most certainly head up to the roof with an automatic weapon and fire it blindly into the air while screaming like a banshee about Peak Oil and Jihads and how bad the Dodgers sucks and why I can't find my fucking pants....
Maybe it's time I put the keyboard away for a while and took a walk, yes? Who knows, the fresh air might kill me at the rate I'm sucking down energy drinks and sweating over this final story in the week of a disturbed Times reporter....there is no real way to tell how I could react now, but rest assured I need to slay this bitch of bitches before it's too late.