The Survivor!

Here is one of my newest heroes, introducing Mr. Les Stroud. I'm addicted to this show. I can't help myself. Everytime I sit down to watch a little TV and I find that Les is on I can easily be entertained, non-stop for three hours, thanks to the frequently run marathons on Discovery. Pretty soon the guy is gonna run out of terrain. I actually think this guy should run for president, I mean shit, have you heard him play the harmonica? He's awesome! This guy has showed me a number of things I can eat in the wild if I'm in dire need. I've learned everything from how to drink my own piss to starting fires to making weapons; he's preparing me for the not-so-far-off apocalypse. He's the guy you want along with you in a zombie-infested world. I hope to see more seasons out of this "Survivorman" series. It's good, honest TV.

More Complaining...

Okay, yesterday, I complained about this job as a whole. Now, I'm here to complain about an individual co-worker that sits next to me. We're all out in the open here, that's right, no privacy! No cubicles. Some would think that a good thing. Think again! First thing in the morning my co-worker fills her face with dry cereal from a plastic bowl with no milk; and get this folks, with a spoon. Keep in mind, this is every single morning. This has bothered me to extremes lately, since I'm so worked up about being at work. I've decided to keep my headphones on throughout her wholesome crunching. It kills me! Every single morning! But, I'm feeling better already. I've taken the time, (my ever growing down-time), to write about what's troubling me. Blogging is the best place to complain. (Who knows who reads this garbage!) By writing this stuff on a post and putting it out there on the internet you're giving it away, thus taking that fucking monkey off your back! Thank goodness for blogging, aaah!

9 to 5 (for lack of a better word) sucks!

I'm back at my old job now for a little over six months. I hate it! Happily, I'm getting paid better than I was before, but over a period of time the result is always the same. Especially when it's slow, like it is right now, so slow I can post until my heart's content. Not only does the flourescent lights put me in a hypnotic-state, but the recycled air makes me feel as if I'm being embalmed. In a perfect world, if I had absolutely no work to do my boss would tell me to go home. I know, I know, I should thank my lucky stars they called me back to work for them. One day I'll look back on this and laugh. For now, I'll just settle on whining for fuck's sake.