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Passive-Agression
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Passive-Agression
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Passive-Agression
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I don't think I can switch firms. For the past few years I have been changing jobs every year just so I can get a two-month vacation. I have since pulled up my socks. |
Passive-Agression
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That should do it, yes? eta: That admonition was my holiday gift to staff several years back. It came with an optional kick in the arse, although no one opted for that. None of the recipients are still here.....and it was cheaper than the time Slave made me buy them wine..... |
Passive-Agression
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Passive-Agression
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The secretary outside my office tears paper before throwing it out. That's noisy. Otherwise, she is a very quiet and generally pleasant woman. She had a chair that squeaked every time she moved, but she snagged a new chair from an unused station after I told her that she deserved a better chair than a beat up old squeaky one. Is that passive-agressive? Or just honey versus vinegar? At my previous firm, one secretary-partner pair yelled across the hall at each other as if they were old married bickersons. This secretary painted her nails at her desk and wore clicky clack shoes and ate food with onions. The partner used speakerphone for every call, and he was hard of hearing so he had the volume on maximum, and he could never dial a call right the first time, and the firm required billing codes be entered for all calls, and he cursed a lot while mis-dialing, and he liked to look at female associates' assets. Good times. |
When is football?
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Fuck Me
LessinSF was forty years old today,
They took away all of his toys. His mother sent newspaper clippings to him, About his old friends who'd stopped being boys. There was Harwitz E. Green, just turned thirty-three, His leather chair waits at the bank. And Sargent Dow Jones, twenty-seven years old, Commanding his very own tank. But Lessin still finds it a nice thing to do, To lie about nude in the sand, Drawing pictures of mountains that look like bumps, And thrashing the air with his hands. But wait, oh Lessin's productive you know, He produces the finest of sound, Putting drumsticks on either side of his nose, Snorting the best licks in town, But that's all over... LessinSF was forty years old today, And Lessin came foam from his tongue. He looked at me eyes wide and plainly said, Is it true that I'm no longer young? And the children call him famous, And the old men call him insane, And sometimes he's so nameless, That he hardly knows which game to play... Which words to say... And I should have told him, "No, you're not old." And I should have let him go on...smiling...babywide. |
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That should alleviate some tension. |
TSA promotes the mile high club
Niel Gaiman directed me to the TSA website with the following observation:
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