Future’s Coming Much Too Slow

And now for the next 3 1/2 hours of my life.

 

Certainly the promise of brilliance could be present as I sit here in a cubicle on a Friday afternoon upon returning from lunch.

 

The forecast for brilliance is merely absent after calling in not as sick, but apathetic.

 

Lunch was tasty with the chance of gastronomical variety.  A pig in a blanket featuring a pepper and cheese stuffed sausage link rounded out the meat, vegetable, cheese, and bread portion of the USDA dietary demands as dictated by the government.  A week old styrofoam container barely half full of queso added the requisite processed cheese piece of the puzzle as it was smeared on fried tortilla chips.

 

A couple of hours after eating leftovers out of the fridge, rest is assured that I’m getting some good cubicle flatulence.

 

I can only hope that it’s not that audible.

For any of you perverts out there who have installed an infrared camera under my desk to satisfy your twisted voyeurism, I can assure you that splotches of red gassy heat are the only thing you’ll see today.

 

One has to wonder if the fast paced world of multi-level marketing where the real profit comes not from the sell of soap, water filters, vitamins, or cock rings, but from building the pyramid below you with friends and family, who in turn are building the pyramid under them, offers the same Friday afternoon tedium as that of a fabric covered boxicle.  Certainly it can’t hide the audible nature of gas generated from a spicy lunch.

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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