Mutiny

“No, no, no, my friends. It’s: WWODBD. ‘What would Ol’ Dirty Bastard do?’ You may not do the most virtuous things or the smartest things or even the most sane things, but your life will be interesting. You have my guarantee on that.”

Hee. I love lowbrow.com. And I need it today. I can hear my brain cells mutinying, one by one. And apparently the one in charge of spelling just left, because I have no idea how to spell the gerund form of “mutiny”. Perhaps it doesn’t exist. But why ought that to stop me? Work is mundane lately.

And I had cayenne-and-Worcestershire-laced snack mix at lunch – which, incidentally, is anything but mundane – so now my throat cells are mutinying, too. Owie.

Eavesdropping… secretaries talking about something verrry quietly. Usually that means it’s the best sort of conversation. But unfortunately I can’t hear and type at the same time, and it looks mighty suspicious to sit motionless and stare at a screen. They’re either talking about skiing, home renovations or sex. Oddly enough, I can’t tell.

Time to do something remotely billable.