105 lines
6.5 KiB
Plaintext
105 lines
6.5 KiB
Plaintext
s$
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$$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1048
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[-- $$""b. $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ "Sodomy and Macrame: A Dynamic Duo"
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ by Krnl [03/22/00]
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[-- $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT"
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did you ever wonder why the co-workers bleed out of their eyes or
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vomit scalding acid all over you when they talk? perhaps sitting at work
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envisioning detailed inquisition torture devices to perfectly complement
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that little scamp AA's bedroom antics is a bit removed from normal
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workplace daydreaming. perhaps not.
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as i dreamlike waltz downstairs air rushing by ski-slope like i
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know. i can hear the mail room clerks torquing their brains with more
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cranklines anything to qsort quicker. another dba bitch decorating her
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cube with her saccharine sweet children just makes me want to fill up her
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fluorescent bulb with napalm and wait until lights out. burn that
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pedestrian maybelleine face into utter submission. playdoh with the
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melted skin, now that is an IPO winner of an idea.
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so i sit back and stare at the ceiling--this must be what sex is
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like for her. and slowly--no carefully--no sublimely--take the razor
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blade longitudinal, perpendicular to the gum-line right in between that
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letterman gap and push. push up. and slice and every synapse gasping
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for energy, firing off a last salvo. echoes of the 10k rpm drill as it
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spins up to puncture needle holes in my brain.
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and at what point does that torture end and this text file begin?
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emerging from the warrens of cubicle sentencing, poking a head
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above water wondering if the sniper with the .50 caliber has already
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delivered his ordinance and is waiting for your skull scatter. the phone
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reminds me that i have just enough time to wrap its tangled chord around
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my throat for deliverance. and they wonder why my hair isn't a normal
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color. it is just a bullseye, waiting for the last penetration. and how
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i want to curb the tubby, mongoloid bitch they assigned to my cube. take
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her albino, thick glasses, sharpen the lens edges and show her
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fraternization, suppository-style.
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i have motivation... motivation to pursue abbreviated anarchy.
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motivation to push the next manglement abortion of a project through
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scores of teeming, teething, amphetamine-laced junior-lackies, clamoring
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for recognition back to the engineers (or at least the paraplegic ones,
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which the company has enslaved with their medical program. all of the
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real engineers have long since carpet-bagged to greener pastures).
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engineers barely able to aim their drool at the custom ergonomic hygiene
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receptacles, lamenting the days when bytes were 5 bit, and everyone knew
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mixal. kids these days.
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oh no, it is one of the QA trackers, guiding me to log into their
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custom bug tracking software hand crafted in basic. boy, do i have
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something to poke. for more about QA, perhaps you should consult
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leisure town. and everyone scurrying to inject as many buzzwords into the
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next memorandum. i just pipe "stdout" through a shell script to
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illustrate my synergistic adherence to the paradigms of process-oriented
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engineering.
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confusion, as gas prices creep up another nickel.
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pandemonium, as salaries can't even keep up the cost of a decent
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GHB habit. how can i raise kids without government subsidized drug use?
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i think my babelfish stopped functioning as another pradeep vishu oracle
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dba verbally defecates in the corner. just ignore him and he will go
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away in a whirling dervish of shiva.
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the security gimps waddle by, smug in their knowledge that they
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are secretly tracking the perversions and deviances of every employee.
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sitting behind the two way bathroom mirrors, there is no invasion of
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privacy so slight as to merit an oversight. making sure that e-mail you
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sent out to the five dollar hooker in tenderloin is grammatically
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correct.
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that two-toothed crack whore appreciates the linguistics and,
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after all, we are all trying to make this a better work environment.
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selling more stolen company equipment on e-bay, calling up the
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dealer about the recent yey0 shipment, all on the company dole. and
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maybe they'll be able to prod me into some productivity today. i won't
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be able to work on my anti-schlong data-mining algorithm to recursively
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bounce through pr0n archives, 'cause it's already five pm. but i can't
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leave yet. no need to joust for positions with the penny-ante faggots on
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the expressway. i might even get lucky and get clipped by a boatload of
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mexicans working in some insurance fraud racket. i need to position my
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head just right so it gets cut cleanly off as the hood enters through the
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windshield. a surgical incision that the coroner would laugh at, as he
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lubes me up with a little astroglide. he found the job on dice.com and
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couldn't be happier. they just leave him alone in his little morgue and
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only care that the bodies are tagged and bagged.
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but i could snap back into some bovine apparition sauntering--no,
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dragging her caboose into the cube entrance, jowls flapping wildly, as if
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this porcine beauty was attempting to gain altitude. trying to show me
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her needle point as i stare at the wyse50.
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don't fail me now, old girl, as i clack louder and faster. you
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are the only thing i can love, back-lit green. i will send a few more
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0x07s at her. there, gone. but she already hit me up for two boxes of
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samoas and one thin mint, as she pulls up anchor to leave. please don't
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let her have a heart attack in my quadrant. all i need is another EMT
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visit to interrupt my schedule.
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blocking on the select again, caught in a tight loop, spewing out
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some garbage-string, saying all my cycles are used. catching projects
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from the database. always careful to play off warring political
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department factions against one another. i can stay here indefinitely,
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whiling away, contemplating leveling the campus with a conventional
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weapon blast. just one broken spacely cog, wedged in the middle of some
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anachronistic automaton. it was an early model, doesn't really compare
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to today's innovation.
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just left out to dry in an overgrown wheat field. waiting for the
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thresher to rip limbs asunder. waiting for deliverance like a deer in
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headlights.
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[-------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu HOE #1048, BY KRNL - 3/22/00 ]
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