Wednesday, September 10, 2003

My Boss

I share an office with my boss.

My boss is a 64 year old man whose mind climbed on a bus back in 1967 and only occasionally sends postcards with witty phrases on them like "The Weather is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful" and "Having a Great Time in Amsterdam. Signed, Your Brain on Drugs."

My boss thinks that I am the best thing since sliced bread, but also thinks that sliced bread was invented last Thursday.

My boss is slightly senile, but thinks he is the wittiest person this side of the Mason-Dixon line.

My boss feels that it is his duty to impart all of his knowledge to me before he retires next year.

My boss is soft-spoken and mumbles, but still imparts his knowledge to me in the form of a rambling story whenever the mood strikes him regardless of how busy I seem to be. In fact, I have been working my ass off nonstop for 8 hours now, and he has been flapping his ancient jowls nonstop for just as long. The worst part is that his stories are at least partially audience participation so I have to lend half an ear to him the whole time that he talks so that I know what he is saying.

My boss has caused me to get approximately 1/4 of the work done today that I should have.

My boss has me hotter than a freshly fucked fox in a forest fire right now.

My boss is still talking while I type this.

My boss won't shut up.

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