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The Hogs of Entropy 1048
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$$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1048
[-- $$""b. $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ "Sodomy and Macrame: A Dynamic Duo"
$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together
$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ by Krnl [03/22/00]
[-- $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT"
did you ever wonder why the co-workers bleed out of their eyes or
vomit scalding acid all over you when they talk? perhaps sitting at work
envisioning detailed inquisition torture devices to perfectly complement
that little scamp AA's bedroom antics is a bit removed from normal
workplace daydreaming. perhaps not.
as i dreamlike waltz downstairs air rushing by ski-slope like i
know. i can hear the mail room clerks torquing their brains with more
cranklines anything to qsort quicker. another dba bitch decorating her
cube with her saccharine sweet children just makes me want to fill up her
fluorescent bulb with napalm and wait until lights out. burn that
pedestrian maybelleine face into utter submission. playdoh with the
melted skin, now that is an IPO winner of an idea.
so i sit back and stare at the ceiling--this must be what sex is
like for her. and slowly--no carefully--no sublimely--take the razor
blade longitudinal, perpendicular to the gum-line right in between that
letterman gap and push. push up. and slice and every synapse gasping
for energy, firing off a last salvo. echoes of the 10k rpm drill as it
spins up to puncture needle holes in my brain.
and at what point does that torture end and this text file begin?
emerging from the warrens of cubicle sentencing, poking a head
above water wondering if the sniper with the .50 caliber has already
delivered his ordinance and is waiting for your skull scatter. the phone
reminds me that i have just enough time to wrap its tangled chord around
my throat for deliverance. and they wonder why my hair isn't a normal
color. it is just a bullseye, waiting for the last penetration. and how
i want to curb the tubby, mongoloid bitch they assigned to my cube. take
her albino, thick glasses, sharpen the lens edges and show her
fraternization, suppository-style.
i have motivation... motivation to pursue abbreviated anarchy.
motivation to push the next manglement abortion of a project through
scores of teeming, teething, amphetamine-laced junior-lackies, clamoring
for recognition back to the engineers (or at least the paraplegic ones,
which the company has enslaved with their medical program. all of the
real engineers have long since carpet-bagged to greener pastures).
engineers barely able to aim their drool at the custom ergonomic hygiene
receptacles, lamenting the days when bytes were 5 bit, and everyone knew
mixal. kids these days.
oh no, it is one of the QA trackers, guiding me to log into their
custom bug tracking software hand crafted in basic. boy, do i have
something to poke. for more about QA, perhaps you should consult
leisure town. and everyone scurrying to inject as many buzzwords into the
next memorandum. i just pipe "stdout" through a shell script to
illustrate my synergistic adherence to the paradigms of process-oriented
engineering.
confusion, as gas prices creep up another nickel.
pandemonium, as salaries can't even keep up the cost of a decent
GHB habit. how can i raise kids without government subsidized drug use?
i think my babelfish stopped functioning as another pradeep vishu oracle
dba verbally defecates in the corner. just ignore him and he will go
away in a whirling dervish of shiva.
the security gimps waddle by, smug in their knowledge that they
are secretly tracking the perversions and deviances of every employee.
sitting behind the two way bathroom mirrors, there is no invasion of
privacy so slight as to merit an oversight. making sure that e-mail you
sent out to the five dollar hooker in tenderloin is grammatically
correct.
that two-toothed crack whore appreciates the linguistics and,
after all, we are all trying to make this a better work environment.
selling more stolen company equipment on e-bay, calling up the
dealer about the recent yey0 shipment, all on the company dole. and
maybe they'll be able to prod me into some productivity today. i won't
be able to work on my anti-schlong data-mining algorithm to recursively
bounce through pr0n archives, 'cause it's already five pm. but i can't
leave yet. no need to joust for positions with the penny-ante faggots on
the expressway. i might even get lucky and get clipped by a boatload of
mexicans working in some insurance fraud racket. i need to position my
head just right so it gets cut cleanly off as the hood enters through the
windshield. a surgical incision that the coroner would laugh at, as he
lubes me up with a little astroglide. he found the job on dice.com and
couldn't be happier. they just leave him alone in his little morgue and
only care that the bodies are tagged and bagged.
but i could snap back into some bovine apparition sauntering--no,
dragging her caboose into the cube entrance, jowls flapping wildly, as if
this porcine beauty was attempting to gain altitude. trying to show me
her needle point as i stare at the wyse50.
don't fail me now, old girl, as i clack louder and faster. you
are the only thing i can love, back-lit green. i will send a few more
0x07s at her. there, gone. but she already hit me up for two boxes of
samoas and one thin mint, as she pulls up anchor to leave. please don't
let her have a heart attack in my quadrant. all i need is another EMT
visit to interrupt my schedule.
blocking on the select again, caught in a tight loop, spewing out
some garbage-string, saying all my cycles are used. catching projects
from the database. always careful to play off warring political
department factions against one another. i can stay here indefinitely,
whiling away, contemplating leveling the campus with a conventional
weapon blast. just one broken spacely cog, wedged in the middle of some
anachronistic automaton. it was an early model, doesn't really compare
to today's innovation.
just left out to dry in an overgrown wheat field. waiting for the
thresher to rip limbs asunder. waiting for deliverance like a deer in
headlights.
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[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu HOE #1048, BY KRNL - 3/22/00 ]
