Caterwauling

People are dropping like flies around these parts. Half are out with the killer flu. The other half are heading for the hills.

You already know they showed my friend the door. This was expected, yet still abrupt.

(If I hadn’t been offered permanent residency at this Las Vegas show, I would have already been gone.)

We also had a not terribly surprising departure on Friday, as Can-Can cha-cha’ed out.

Then we got the resignation I’ve been waiting for on my Company Bingo card. (Yes, I have a Trump Bingo card with his Swamp Cabinet, and I have one for my company too. And we sit on an ACTUAL swamp with creatures less dangerous than Orange Shitgibbon’s cronies.)

But that wasn’t all. ANOTHER dear friend got to have her own “Half Baked” moment.

Everyone else is rearranging their own bingo cards. And these betting folks have a new odds-on favorite to leave.

My money is on the overworked programmer/designer. Their money is on the overworked editor/marketer …

My neighbor (the one who was told his daughter doesn’t attend a real school) came over and said, “Are you next?”

I put up my hands and said, “I plead the Fifth.”

He said, “You’re leaving February fifth?”

I looked at him wide-eyed. For longer than I should have.

Because, well, Feb. 5 would be a great day to resign.

The perfect day, really …

Edited to add: I QUIT on Feb. 5.

“Crown Royal and Coke. What I am drinkin’
Newports don’t work, look at ’em throwin’ words

I know I need to quit again
But soon as I try to go a day or two,
I’m caught up in some shit again.”

Lil Wyte & Jelly Roll — “And the Band Plays On”

New boys don’t work.

No shit.

Fuckin Eric Trump with the Booger Fetish called me at 4:05 Friday to ask where an issue was.

My reply was a metaphorical, “Eat shit, Sparky.” I said I have seven issues — with 700 steps each. You can wait in line, booger boy.

Furthermore, he missed most of the editing mistakes in the one issue he deigned himself good enough to glance at. Unless he agrees that credit card providers engage in “transitions” rather than transactions. In which case, let’s order gay wedding cakes for them all!

Thursday, I skipped lunch (well, that’s not an unusual occurrence) because I was told to send an “urgent” issue. I edited the 14-page thing, formatted it in WordPress, reformatted it for Dreamweaver … and waited.

Came in the next day to a brand-new version. “Disregard the old,” I was told. So the six (at the time) projects with the 750 steps became six plus a redo.

Well, six plus TWO redos. After I re-edited and reformatted the big-ass document for web and HTML, I was sent a THIRD version.

So Booger man —

You know, the motherfucker who watches TV (LOUD) all day and hires a freelancer to write his shit … and who bullies a marketer into doing his editorial work … and who has me to edit and publish all the shit that he doesn’t feel he has to inherit until he is good and goddamned ready —

You can borrow my beach-ball-sized lady nuts if you ever want to know what it feels like to have a set.

My boss overheard him making the call and immediately Skyped me to offer to beat the shit out of him. I said I want the first, last and EVERY OTHER PUNCH I could get in.

It’s OK. I’m about to force him to take it all on. Although something tells me that poor marketer whom he has designated as his editorial slave will suffer the most.

Good thing I’ve been training her well. That’s all I gotta say about that … today, anyway …

“I’m fed up, I’m on the road
I’m doing shows, I ain’t going home
On I-40, in the fast lane
Tryna get away from all the wrong

It’s catching up, I’m driving faster
It ain’t getting the best of me
Only reason I made it this far is I have the recipe

I know what I’m doin, 10 years and I’m only venting a little bit

If shit really get bad you’ll know cause I’ll fuck around and kill a bitch.”