There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


Warning: Crappy poetry ahead!

Paula Abdul is crying over Elliot, who does sing beautifully, but is not exactly the kind of man meat that America needs to celebrate right now to keep the price of gas down and to keep the terrorists at bay. I mean, I just don't have an urge to smack his ass.

Yesterday at lunch I saw an excellent version of a mullet -- the hair pulled back through the opening at the back of the baseball cap. Last week while at the same establishment, I saw the two-tone mullet: Blond out back, brown up front. This is the sort of thing that makes my day. That's how crappy some days are. I get excited over seeing a dude with a mullet at Taco Cabana.

At some point in the near future, I will share some amazing tales of just how batshitcrazy CrazyWheelChairLady has become lately. The story is still in the middle, though. Another trip to HR, this time with the company attorney in attendence, is in my near future. Can't wait. Also in my future is a job interview at another company.

For those of you who can't do verbal Sudoku, here's the solution to our really crappy puzzle:

If it were written out, it would say:

surrounding an infinite
and aching emptiness
Motionless silence
dropping instead into the reaching,
no, distant bank
of an arching bridge
Love is like the aimless span

I guess that was worth his salary.

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birth & death