Honestly. Honestly, I get paid an inordinate amount of money to do almost absolutely nothing. and ... AND I have a degree. But at this point I forget what my degree is in because I've spent the last 3 hours staring at the computer screen, catching up on articles from Vanity Fair and doing my OWN investigation into whether I think Michael Jackson touched little boys in their bathingsuit places. My conclusion, after three hours of mouth agape, non-moving, non-blinking constipated concentration (besides the fact that my left leg is asleep and my back is arranged in one of the most painful curvatures that I have ever experienced): He did it: he totally fondled the way of the priest. I'm sure of it. I'm also sure that the woman next to me smells like vagina, and hasn't done an iota of work since she got here either. Except for she copied a piece of paper, and then sat down with it next to me looking very smug with herself. I examined the paper, then her, then the piece of paper again, as she waited for some sort of acknowledgement of her feat.
"Cool," I said. "I just got an e-mail from mailerdeamon."
She has no idea what I'm talking about.