UnpleasantlySexy

Dammit.

There's a guy who's office shares a wall with my cube, and he's a loud-talker. At the moment, he's explaining his incredulous lack of knowledge of the phrase "Soylent green is made of people" to someone at top-volume over the phone. And I don't care.

I can't even express the extent to which I don't care about what he's saying because to do so would imply that I do, in fact, care, and it would just encourage him.

Earlier, he was going on about how Mike Huckabee doesn't want to do anything for the environment, but he feels okay because he drives a Prius. Rrrrrrggggghhhhhhhhhhh!

A while ago, he was excitedly describing an all-night Halo 3 session, during which he obsessively hunted down and repeatedly killed an eight-year-old. He set up sniper nests and other various ambushes within the game in order to "teach that kid a lesson." Then, he bellowed that the kid "should have known better than to mess with me." Classy.

When he's outside of his office, he's as quiet as a mute, Buddhist mouse. When he's at his desk, however, he feels that it's a moral imperative to make every word an announcement. He calls employees in to his office to use as targets for his loud talking. Not a single person ever leaves without shaking their head in disgust.

I want to pull my ears off and throw them in his face.

Also, he far outranks me, and he knows it. So, when he claimed that the acronyms "ISP," "RAM," and "HTML" don't actually stand for anything, I had to stifle a "HOLYCRAPYOU'REAMORON" scream, which made my nose bleed a little.

The ironic part is that he's the tech editor for a different department, meaning, in essence, he's me.

And...as much as I detest his very existence, I think that, if my prolonged employment here will eventually allow me to spout off truisms at the top of my lungs (regardless of their actual trueyness), I'd enjoy my job like never before.

So I told the guy, "put the defibrillatron into the two-pronged oscillatrix on the the front of the motherboard, and your problem's solved." Did he listen? Nope. That's why your DVD player's broken.

I'd create my own little world of impossibilities, and then frolic naked amongst the geysers of ignorance.

Oh, I'm sorry...there's no such thing as, what did you call it? Dee-vee-dee? Nope. Never heard of it. Now, once I've taped these 9-volt batteries to my face and recited Gettysburg address, I'm going to teleport myself into outer space.



S