"The four kings of E.M.I. are sitting stately, on the floor."

I'm waiting, just waiting, for one of you jackballs to ask me what the hell is up with the entry titles lately.

(...Still waiting...)

Eh, fuck it. If you ask, you ask. On with the show!

So, this feels like the longest month in the history of months. I think it could have to do with job disenchantment. It could have to do with being broke all the time. All I know is that this weekend coming up is the first three day weekend I've had in months, and damned if it isn't taking forever to get here. I almost feel as though I might be sick come Tuesday. Hmm, yes... Perhaps.

Anyway, I didn't get angry with stupid co-worker Le Douchebag this morning. Oh, no; it was somebody else's day to become enraged at her antics. I'm not sure what happened, but she made one of my cooler co-workers (in fact, the one that I trust the most there because she 1) has been there forever and doesn't take any crap, 2) when my bro worked in that department, he said, and still says that she is the only one you can trust, and 3) she is always looking out for me) just about go off (which is rare, because cool co-worker tends to look at things more rationally and not give a shit about other people's stupidity, which is something I should probably work on a lot more).

Yes, I am going parentheses-crazy. It must be the heat. Onward.

So, Douche has got my friend all hot under the collar. My best guess is that Douche is up to her usual antics of trying to use condescension to mask her own massive feelings of inadequacy, and she's just taking it a bit too far. This has got my friend so agitated that she tells me about her agitation, another rarity.

I try to assuage her feelings of pissiness by relating Douche's antics with me last week, and how I got over the whole ordeal after blogging and coming to the realization that pissiness, on my part, is temporary, but Doucheness? My friends, that's forever! It works a little bit, I think, and we go on to attend our weekly bullshit staff meeting.

The day goes on, slowly, but surely. Douche sits in the cube right in front of my friend, so I am hoping a busy day on the phones keeps them away from each other. That works up until right before my lunch, when I am radio silent, and can hear both of them on their respective phone calls. My friend is instructing a caller how to send in a cost report; Douche is happily nattering away, lecturing a poor provider in her usual condescending manner. I am about to gather my things to head out for lunch when I hear Douche explain how she does something, concluding thusly:

"Well, ninety-nine times out of ten, this really works."

Oh, yes. Not nearly as funny as "Sixty percent of the time, it works every time," but the way she said it with such seriousness and importance, was fucking classic.

I scribble it on a Post-It and handed it to my friend on the way out the door. She looks at it very quickly, looks at me, then points at Douche's cubicle. I nod. She almost forgets to hit the mute button, else she would've busted out laughing right into her caller's ear. Which, I think, would have been bonus points.

That Post-It is now tacked to my friend's monitor, as a gentle reminder.