Vengeance Incarnate
or
Oh No You Deh-eh!

Father O'Fannypack told me the other day that he knows what I should go as for Halloween. Of course, he was just trying to make a little funny when he said I should go as Vengeance Incarnate. I told him that be too difficult, because I'd have to go around all night looking for things to get pissed off about just so I could be vengeful. I think that was a run-on. Anyway, it would be difficult. Well, not so much difficult, just no. He was being... well...something anyway. What was the point? Oh yea. I am a vengeful shit. That's what I was getting to.

So the nazi party that employs me (should that "n" be uppercase?), rather my direct supervisor who is the head of the Nazis since Paula Poundstone stepped down (I'll just switch between the two), has been a complete, and I use this term loosely, flaccid horse's dick in a third world sex show with scab whores. Not exactly sure what that is supposed to mean other than he has been especially nasty to me lately. What makes it worse is he is good at it. He knows how to be a complete Dildo McNugget in a way that makes it impossible to get any real hard evidence to prove his nazi shit headism. Then the bastard tries to play all sweet and innocent and bosom buddy chum chum chuh-ree with my ass. I don't like him much.

Anyway, as a lowly technician, there are very few things I can do to get back at him without losing my job. So I figured out my own little disgusting way of irritating him. The cheap labels.

Okay so in a nutshell, pharmacist enters medication orders into computer. Computer sends information to label printer. Printer prints label. Tech fills label. Pharmacist signs label saying it was filled correctly. That's as simplified as tech work's explanation gets. Actually. Enter. Send. Print. Fill. Sign. I won't dumb it down any further. Anywho, where was I? Yea so Father O has been making fun of my dry face for a couple of days now. My skin always gets dry when the weather changes drastically. Well, what little oils or grease or crisco or shiny whatever my face has, well, had is being sacrificed to the cause. For a couple of days now, I've been rubbing oil from my skin onto the label to make his overpriced pen get gunked up and nasty and not work on the labels. I know how insane/disgusting that may be...okay is but it is all I can do.

I've been to the head of the department and she says that he says that he doesn't realize he is doing anything. I told her of course he is not going to admit to treating us like modern slaves. Why the hell would he? So until I come up with something more diabolical and less disgusting than rubbing face crisco all over labels for him, I'll continue to lube up.

I was going to talk about this odd feeling I had the other night up here, but it is rather pointless (as opposed to the normal garbled shite I prattle on about). Very quickly, I was outside smoking the other night at work. As I walked across a manhole cover which leads to the sewer, I had an odd feeling of almost deja vu. The smell of sewage and cigarette smoke coupled with the cool air made me feel really lonely all of a sudden. A couple of seconds later, I realized why that smell brought such deep feelings of loniless and longing (not in a rar rar rar sexy sort of way but longing in a Fievel An American Tail sort of way). It was the smell of New York. So anyway, I want to go back to New York now. I miss it there.

Later Consuela.