Andare, Partire, Tornare

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I don't wanna work, I just wanna bang on a drum all day.

Some interesting hits:

"Natalie +Bogie" (Nataleeeee, want to explain that one?)

"Taliban Bunkers"

and, of course,

"sex under the desk".

This gave me the giggles, it's from an exchange on rec.arts.sf.written about merchandising the One Ring:
However, I still like the scrolling marquee idea, especially if you could program it to say "Help! I'm trapped in a tacky merchandise factory!" In High Elvish, of course.
How do you think Santa got all of his workers? He ended up with all of the Elven rings, and centuries of malnourishment and mistreatment has resulted in a flock of miniscule elf-slaves.
"One ring to rule them all, and unto Christmas bind them."
Makes sense. All those paranoia-inducing lyrics ... "He sees you when you're sleeping... he knows when you're awake... he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake!"
Wonderful. Now I'm going to dream about Santa's terrible jolly red eye.

What follows is a discussion on how Tom Bombadil is really Santa, and swapped rings with Frodo, headed North, and began to dominate reindeer in a sadistic manner. Scawy

I am currently taking a break from accessioning those FUCKING cigarette premiums. I thought they were soo cuuuute, and they were, but now that I have to data entry each individual little freakin' one, and sew a number onto it, I am about ready to take up smoking myself. Which may have been the whole point.

I enjoy my job. But I don't really like working when I have to. If I were Empress of the World, I'd swan into work when I felt like it, and stay home, sleep late, and read a book when I wanted to. I would love to not *have* to work, but actually that's more because I desire the feeling of financial stability. I know that if I stayed home, I would let brain rot set in quickly, despite my best efforts, unless I were truly rich and could indulge all the things I want to do (travel extensively, have a private language tutor to teach me Italian, get back into horseback riding, learn to bellydance, learn to cook, purchase and read more books, and the list goes ever onward...) So there are my requirements - let me work when I want to, indulge myself when I want to, and otherwise allow me to cater to all my desires. Excuse me, I need to go get a metal detector and start looking for the genie in the bottle right now.

(Actually, this has always been a problem for me. If I could wish for the ability to, say, speak Italian fluently, I'd jump at it. But when I was actually enrolled in Italian class, I'd slack off. Hand it to me on a silver platter, damnit!)

But anyway. The cigarette premiums are calling my name. "Genibee," they croon, "Come get us organized. We want to know we are loved!" Bastards.

12:26 p.m. - 2002-01-08

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