Deadlines are a Bitch

"So, it's Tuesday again? Not as if I"m really all that interested. Frankly I have a deadline to meet, which I won't, and a boss who can't seem to get it through her head that once I clock-off I'm no longer at her behest. I'm leaking time like a punctured water-balloon, and I don't think that what I have to say about Ms. Lark Bedfellow is really worth even two lines, let alone a whole page. Arrgghhh.

Now if I could just manage to get a good scoop on that tits and ass doll named Pammy Snatch, I'd be in good company (the type of company that makes money, as if there really is any other kind). Oh, I'm sure there are some more 'respected' columnist out there, those that work really hard for truth, integrity and the American way, but that stuff just doesn't sell. Candid-Celebrity sells...seeing your Angelina Follie face-down in a sleazy twat-club toilet, or watching your rugged types like Tommy Holmes cruise a local gay bar while his loving wife watches the baby and bows sixteen times to the star ship shaped like a cucumber out their east window. Now, that's got cache. And that is what sells.

But I digress. After all, I have a deadline, and if that phone rings one more time, I will throw it through the window. I hate my boss.