(Ape is D)
D -
Very well then, you may go...
A -
Pssh, whatever, YOU go. Fetch me my ale.
D -
You mistake me for a common serving wench sir, perhaps if you had not been blinded by the syphilis and if your ears had not been...damaged...during your "i wanna put my whole head up a cows backside" phase you would recognize a social better and be gone as I have wished.
Low-blood scum.
A -
Peasant. Your vile tongue and crude insults only confirm what I have long thought - that your brain has been permanently addled by too much drink and your penchant for smacking your head into inanimate objects. I fear that even conversing with you has somehow soiled me.....I must burn these clothes.....
D -
Foul rapscallion, blaming your higher-ups for your loose bowels and arsonistic tendancies...If I wasn't worried about becoming infected with the horrible disease that has rendered your head to that contortion of bumps and oozing holes that you would call a face , I would backhand you like the infectous corner-strutting women of the night that you wish you were.
A -
Pathetic. You play with words the way a mindless child plays with toys - go back to shovelling manure, boy, and let the men do the talking. I'd repay your insolence with blood if I didn't think that hitting a simpleton would dishonour me.
D -
After this conversation sir, I can assure you that I will have had to handle quite enough manure to last me 3 more lifetimes. I have never before seen such a creature that has their anus placed directly under their nose, one would think it would be enough to keep you from opening the orifice and spewing your verbal diarrhea, but apparently you have learned to deal with the stink of your own waste, and continue to want to smear the world with your ramblings. May God take mercy on his biggest mistake, and strike you and the breading pair of sibling dung beetles from which you were spawned, dead.
A -
Perhaps your parents, out of some ill-gotten sense of pity, allowed you to live, rather than drowning you in the nearest body of water, as all of humanity has so dearly wished. Perhaps you are the result of rampant inbreeding. Perhaps you parents were pigs who produced a hideous half-man - I care not. I can only chuckle, with the calm air of a man who has seen so many yelping dogs like yourself bark their impotent fury at those of us who have fared better in life with our God-given gifts, at your paltry attempts to be offensive.
Perhaps I shall purchase you a dictionary, so that when you rail so ineffectually against my arguments, you will at least do so with a dim grasp of what my words mean; that is, of course, if your sausage-life fingers can manage the dexterity to grasp the pages, and your feeble mind, like that of the smallest lizard, can grasp the starnge symbols upon the page.
I fear most mightily that your kind shall one day find the opportunity to breed, and we will have to suffer the sight and sounds of more of you. Perhaps we will have the requisite organs removed so that the possibility is gone, and we will send you to follow the dogs in the kennel and wipe their asses.
***Note - The above is an actual string of emails that started when I failed to return the change from a coffee run.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Work and the Navy.
Serioulsy.
Here we sit, chained and contained, in a world of paper pushing and number crunching.
A world where the right pair of pants are required, and the comfort of home must be left behind.
Windows must be shut otherwise us children may get excited about the nice day outside.
Files are passed by through systems and hands, everyone touching them, but never holding them dear.
Why is it that the squeaky wheel gets the oil, and the others are left to continue to grind away into nothingness in their silent throes of agony?
My cubicle is the extension of my personality, but tailored to the coporate regulations of "This is RIGHT, This is NOT RIGHT!".
A new religion without the figurehead, Sisyphus trying to find the hill only to have to fill out in triplicate the forms for the rock, which are on backorder anyways.
Controlled entrance, controlled exit with no real escape but the dim glimmer of retirement, or my ship coming in...and naval taxes are a bitch.
Here we sit, chained and contained, in a world of paper pushing and number crunching.
A world where the right pair of pants are required, and the comfort of home must be left behind.
Windows must be shut otherwise us children may get excited about the nice day outside.
Files are passed by through systems and hands, everyone touching them, but never holding them dear.
Why is it that the squeaky wheel gets the oil, and the others are left to continue to grind away into nothingness in their silent throes of agony?
My cubicle is the extension of my personality, but tailored to the coporate regulations of "This is RIGHT, This is NOT RIGHT!".
A new religion without the figurehead, Sisyphus trying to find the hill only to have to fill out in triplicate the forms for the rock, which are on backorder anyways.
Controlled entrance, controlled exit with no real escape but the dim glimmer of retirement, or my ship coming in...and naval taxes are a bitch.
3rd Blog - Now I am a professional.
So there I was, crouched low and waiting. Straining to control my breathing and slow my beating heart so that I could better hear the darkened world around. I knew my prey was elusive and I also knew he was close...very close.
Suddenly there was the snap of a dry branch, and the ravens above took wing, startled. I brought forth all of my focus, straining to hear once more the movement of my prey.
Somewhere in the darkness, I could sense him, moving like a shadow across a darkened plain...
This was going to be the end for one of us, our pattern of hunter and hunted would soon be concluded, with only one leaving intact.
Then, impact.
My shoulder felt numb as I flew through the air. He had snuck up behind me, and using the traditional croque-mallet-of-war had dealt me a vicious blow.
I hit the ground, tried to roll, but my shoulder could not support me. The pain promised in the deadly swift attack finally came through my deadened nerves, and I tasted death...
It tasted like chipotle.
Time slowed as I finally caught site of...him. Coming towards me, seemingly unconcerned as if the battle had already been concluded. I raised my one good arm, and slowly regained my feet.
Eyes locked...they say the eyes are the windows to the soul, well let me tell you, some mutherfucker had slashed his window screen, and climbed right in. His soul was laid bare, and I knew absolute horror.
His fingers twitched, and started to play a syncopated rhythm upon the shaft of his mallet...4/4, 3/4, 7/8...the bastard was trying to confuse me...trying to break me...
I could not let this happen. We began to circle each other, looking for a hole, a gap, in each others defenses, trying to create a mistake that would bring quick death. No aggressive movements were made, we both knew that to commit was to bring the end..
And then he spoke...
"Now is not the final time."
And then he was gone.
Suddenly there was the snap of a dry branch, and the ravens above took wing, startled. I brought forth all of my focus, straining to hear once more the movement of my prey.
Somewhere in the darkness, I could sense him, moving like a shadow across a darkened plain...
This was going to be the end for one of us, our pattern of hunter and hunted would soon be concluded, with only one leaving intact.
Then, impact.
My shoulder felt numb as I flew through the air. He had snuck up behind me, and using the traditional croque-mallet-of-war had dealt me a vicious blow.
I hit the ground, tried to roll, but my shoulder could not support me. The pain promised in the deadly swift attack finally came through my deadened nerves, and I tasted death...
It tasted like chipotle.
Time slowed as I finally caught site of...him. Coming towards me, seemingly unconcerned as if the battle had already been concluded. I raised my one good arm, and slowly regained my feet.
Eyes locked...they say the eyes are the windows to the soul, well let me tell you, some mutherfucker had slashed his window screen, and climbed right in. His soul was laid bare, and I knew absolute horror.
His fingers twitched, and started to play a syncopated rhythm upon the shaft of his mallet...4/4, 3/4, 7/8...the bastard was trying to confuse me...trying to break me...
I could not let this happen. We began to circle each other, looking for a hole, a gap, in each others defenses, trying to create a mistake that would bring quick death. No aggressive movements were made, we both knew that to commit was to bring the end..
And then he spoke...
"Now is not the final time."
And then he was gone.
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