(no subject)

LEt's see. At my wonderful dayjob, I tend to do things in the following order of priority:

1: Cruise the internet
2: Drink copious amounts of coffee.
3: Run off at the mouth on topics from politics to coworkers to the stupidities of the latest artist we're trying to market
4: Work on my photoshop skills
5: Actually do my job.

Hell, if I could find a decent way to get away with it, I'd currently be sleeping at my desk, head propped up on a small tower of drained Starbucks cups, closed eyelids camouflaged by white out and sharpie marks. (Late night last night. Good night, but a late one.) So, what does my work do? Fire the slacker? Reprimand the lazy bastard? No. Instead they're giving me more responsibilities.

God help me.

(no subject)

Ok, folks. I'm running on something less than three hours of sleep. You lot are supposed to be entertaining me with your witty posts at this point. And well, I'm not seeing much going on here today, people. Come forth and keep my brain busy! Please! Otherwise, I'll start trying to come up with content on my own, and well, you don't want to see what happens when I do that on this little rest.

This is when bad things have been known to happen. Forbidden things. hell, this is how Kirk/Spock/Bulbous Alien Rock Entity slashfic probably got its start.

(no subject)

So help me, I want shirts from here.