I like to think of myself as someone who can get along with anybody except for clowns, bureaucrats and werewolves. But filling out forms with a pen is, uh, mental torture. Forms make me agitated. I scribble, panic, weep. I yell lots about 'not wanting to live in this plane of reality'. Anyway. I had to fill out a form today. You can kinda tell, can't you?
Workplace
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You know what bugs me? Being told I have pathological problems with authority. I just don't see it, man. And besides, why I should be subjected to psycho-babble just because I rightly understand that if I don't terrorize a middle-manager every day the entire world will fall into a thousand years of darkness, with pestilence and giant clowns? I'm a bit disappointed in psychiatry, too, obviously.
TGIF
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'People say to me: Che - how do you do it? I say 'hard work and nothing more'. But the truth is that everything pretty much depends on Human Resources not paying too much attention to me. Happy Friday you lot.'
Workplace
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Everyone should have a mission statement. If you don't have one yet my advice is to write one that would make your Human Resources department panic. You should listen to me because the laws that govern probability suggest that I'll be right about everything at least part of the time. And today I'm feeling lucky.
Workplace
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On Wednesdays I like to post an older card like this and then spend the rest of the day writing letters to various newspaper editors requesting more coverage of the small African nation of Bunwabe. I sign the letters 'concerned'. Bunwabe is a country I completely made up. I believe that one day I'll know why I do this.
