Dear Phishers:

It works a lot better if you spell your phishing e-mail better. "Choise"? My fingers hurt typing that. "Rightfull"? Go choke on a dictionary.

No love,
Unphished


The History of every major Galactic Civilization tends to pass through three distinct and recognizable phases, those of Survival, Inquiry and Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why and Where phases. For instance, the first phase is characterized by the question How can we eat? the second by the question Why do we eat? and the third by the question Where shall we have lunch?

My workplace is definitely at Sophistication, though there are forays into Inquiry, as witness the recent investigation of the exact genital setup of the standard-issue hermaphrodite (Joe Average Layman, in the form of ObsoL33t Super, Stressy College Chick, and gods know who else, is not dreadfully informed on this) and the thing with the cow stomachs and all the trips to Google for vocabulary definitions and the IMDB visits.


figment0 tearing his hair at a monitor report is never a good sign.

Stressy College Chick was talking about school.
"Class, class, class. You know what class rhymes with? You can kiss it." Rev. Not-So-Nice Super is actually an asshole. (Not an asshat. An asshole. In the Dennis Leary sense.)


We still haven't decided on a place to outsource lunch from. And it's 5 minutes until lunchtime.


I seem to have acquired a decent working relationship with the Crazy Cussing Bus Stop Lady based on her being pagan of some description (and possibly 'kin as well, because "Mortals are so much fun" was cited) and me being a little bit "high-strung" or something. Innnnteresting.

And it's now 15 minutes past lunchtime; I have yet to actually order lunch.

Oh. Dear. Looks like I'm getting Random Crap from the Machine for lunch: the delivery driver just went home sick. Heh. One of those days, eh?