My office is aflutter with activity. Apparently everyone spent all day yesterday sitting around jabbering about NASCAR and peeking at internet porn. Among other things, the rotation of the world is contingent upon my presence. When it stopped yesterday they had to tie themselves to earthbound objects to keep from floating off into the stratosphere.

Now that I'm back the meetings have commenced, the phones now ring with urgent frequency, and people earning twice my income are forming lines in front of my desk, armed with pens and notepads. They're grilling me about cable gauging and hardware compatibility and camera focus distances and the frequency and duration of my erections. The whiskey jokes punctuate these pointed inquiries. I just want to slack off and accomplish nothing whatsoever.

Thirty minutes of frenzied activity have passed since the completion of my previous paragraph. I was slacking prematurely.

Shit. I gotta go. 3:25 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm