The Schooligan vs. A Six Pound Bag of M&Ms

It's a losing battle. Seriously. YOU WIN M&Ms!!!

Yesterday was one of those days that reminds me with a vicious dick slap to the face that working for COCK is not all free lunches and laser pointers. I was assaulted from the moment that I got to my desk (early, mind you) with about a billion ridiculous and slightly impossible tasks.

When I broke for lunch (having had enough rewriting of legal terms and really boring conditions) and went over to the Fortress for some delicious leftover pasta (pesto and red sauce, fresh tomatoes, parmesan cheese, broc-o-slaw, Gargamel accidently pinched my finger in the cabinet door. It was one of those moments of such intense pain that you immediately see spots and can't even bring yourself to make any noise and instead crumple to the floor, clutching your injured digit, your face locked into a silent scream.

Back at work, trying to type 17 pages of legal jargon with my busted finger, Mr. Not as Annoying as the TSV But Pretty Damn Close literally STOOD BEHIND ME and breathed down the back of my neck while I worked on the document criticizing my desktop and saying things like, I don't know how you can work like this, to which it took the combined willpower of every single cell in my body NOT to say, I CAN'T, YOU JACKASS!

I ended up staying at work until about 6pm, by which time i had missed my friends going climbing at College Rock and ended up in the foulest of moods with no hope of making cocktail hour. (Mythical cocktail hour)