Thursday, August 25, 2005

I sug-gest you step out
On your porch
Run away my son, see it all
Oh, see the world
Oh, reach the door.
A breath and...

A howling gale blows across the tundra...


I gird myself yet again for battle.

I wince as I remember the previous day's carnage. Old friends long gone. Bitter enemies vanquished.

I sip my shitty, Folgers coffee from the industrial-size, steel machine and continue my preparations.

Two Cross pens. An oversize legal pad. A wireless mouse. A flat screen monitor.

And the most deadly of all... a slim, yet powerful, flip phone... *click* Into its holster.

These are my deadly weapons.

The trail of dead stretches out behind me.

Scattered accordion folders. Properly authenticated deeds. A swingline stapler. A lone notary seal.

CNBC hums quietly in the background.

A toner cartridge tumbles across the horizon.

A lone head pops up like a groundhog above the cubicle walls, furtvely glances both ways, then disappears.

Dutifully, nay, triumphantly, I hoist the Spoils of War, electronically tithed, pre-tax, with a dollar-for-dollar employer match up to four percent.

I press the "all office" intercom button, and my voice thunders o'er the battelfield like an ominous storm...