Life's better when I'm unconscious

2005-06-17, 12:56 a.m.

As soon as I got to sleep after my shift today, the gods of Fuck You thought it would be cool to have the creepy contractors from We Don't Speak English But Have No Problem Staring At Your Tits Anyway Land knock on my door to "check the grounding" in my room.

The main reason that sucked? Other than the fact that I had to stand outside in the blazing sunlight half-asleep for ten minutes?

Mostly because now that my life's been hit by the Dipshit Tornado, I've really been enjoying sleep.

I never realized how welcome a six- to eight-hour escape from the world could be until I actually had something to escape from.

So when those whatever-they-weres came and WOKE me UP, it was like an obnoxious reminder that my shitty situation still hasn't fucking fixed itself, my "leaders" still have the equivalent leadership abilities of a loofah, and above all, I'm STILL IN FUCKING IRAQ.

Damn, this shit's getting pretty depressing, isn't it? At least I haven't had any disturbing dreams to bitch about.

"Yeah, so then this frigging monster with ten legs and a stench like a diseased sow took a huge dump on my face. Then I got my period and I had no tampons and I had to walk around all day with Diseased-Sow-Monster feces on my face and my pants all stained and EVERYBODY WAS LAUGHING AT ME!!"

Because that would suck.
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My Night Shift job consists of Googling news articles about Iraq, copying them, pasting them in a Word document, and e-mailing them, along with several attachments that nobody reads, to my bosses.

One of the attachments?

A compilation of news articles virtually IDENTICAL to my compilation, except formatted a tiny bit differently -- like, the headlines are bold instead of italic or something.

This task is more pointless than a quadriplegic track meet, and far less entertaining.

But at least I don't have to be subjected to Annoying Boss and her unceasing brain-dead monologues, and I don't have to witness Incompetent Co-worker raising his Suck-At-Life level to even more epic proportions with every breath.

Plus, I get to sleep through the most ass-melting part of the day.

I walked outside around 4 p.m. today, breathing normally, and immediately realized that said breathing was apparently an affront against the air, which decided to punish me via the Choking Death method.

The air was so fucking thick that I probably could have balled it up and chucked it at Dubya's head for forcing me to leave the comfort of America.

Message to Dubya: Go sit on a dick.

Better yet, put on a fucking uniform, fly your little toy airplane out here and join all your miserable peons.

But still, sit on a dick.
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All you guys who focused your unbridled rage on my dickbrained bosses ... thank you.

Maybe if we all concentrate really hard, they'll spontaneously combust or something.

Yes, I know, that's not very nice.

It's much too messy. Everyone concentrate on it happening outside.