DESCRIPTION OF BOREDOM NUMERO UNO:

Currently, I am working for a younger, NewYorkian, "if I were in any movie, I would definatly be the neurotic lead of a Woody Allen film" Uber-Jew. He has this intrugeging habit of pulling his pants up so far above his waist, as to taunt the great Newton himself, which makes the cuffs of his pants come to rest about a half- a-foot above his ankles. It's truly breathtaking… However, he is cool, and I like him.

I'm surpised, at this point, he hasn't transferred me out, because last week I was functioning as the embodiment of the following metaphors:

1. A gay interior designer who, after being told that the kitchen in his client's new-house is being covered completely by Linoleum, falls into a heap on the floor sobbing, where he is immediately consoled by his assistant, donning a hand full of Pills, and a cup of vodka.

2. A billionaire's Pill-popping, trophy-wife who, after finding out that Fredrico the pool boy isn't coming today, decides to scrap her whole "get out in the sun for once this week" idea, and retreats back to her room to watch Dynasty reruns, pop Pills and drink vodka.

3. A six year old who was just told that Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny aren't real, all at the same time, and immediately turns into an apathetic, miniature Nihilist, downing his first dose of Pills and and taking a shot of vodka.

In conclusion, disgust, distress, hopelessness, confusion, apathy and nihilism is the basic description of my daily humor.