BAD DINGO, NO BEER FOR YOU!

Over the weekend I chivied one of the boys in the lounge about stashing his beer in the company refrigerator. Dude, stop being such an alcoholic, and hogging the space where I need to put my lunch! Being a puritan in several ways, I do not approve of intoxicating beverages before the cocktail hour, and don't have much truck with beer in any case. It's the beverage of yutzes and teevee watching sportsfiends as well as drunken frat boys.
People who eat bad pizza.

That space could be better occupied by my lunch at work.

He says that I am picking on him.

I am.


In fact, I pick on very many of the fellows back there, not just him. Too damned many of them are idiots. Yesterday the esteemed member of the judicial branch ranted for half an hour about street people in San Francisco, to the point where I snarled that I was all in favour of deporting them to a harsh penal colony like Virginia, and letting the authorities of that ghastly colonial enterprise put them to work in the tobacco fields.
I would have suggested Australia, but America doesn't actually own that place, or Greenland, which the orange-faced baboon wants to purchase, however neither of those fine wasteland hellholes actually grows tobacco. Which is a key element in this scheme, as the esteemed member of the judicial branch, the other yutzes in front of the teevee, the beerdrinking profligate, and I myself have an interest in the noble leaf. Remarkably, he didn't wig to the fact that I was being facetious. A keen legal mind, and related to a well-respected geo-political analyst who worked high up in previous administrations, but not as perspicacious as he should be.
It's probably all the degeneracy that surrounds him at work.
As well as the rotten stogies he huffs.


It is often a struggle to remain equanimitible and courteous at work.


Over the years I have noticed that some of the more uneasy to get along with cigar-smokers there have the nicest dogs; animals that reflect well on their owners and give a better impression of them than they themselves are capable of doing. Because one of them is involved in training and raising helper animals (for the seeing impaired, diabetics, or other people awaiting such), there has been a succession of calm and extremely well-balanced retriever and labrador mixes, whom one wishes were capable of speech.
Remarkably, not a single one of these likable creatures have realized that, besides my having no tail, the main difference between me and them is opposable thumbs, which is why I can open the cookie jar.
They do understand that I have this magic talent.
Can't quite grasp why that is.


The dogs are appreciative. They treat me with greater consideration than they do the beer drinker. Who just lays there in the overstuffed easy chair, like a bag of dry beans, talking too damned much. Dogs aren't big on speech. Nuzzling, head scratching, or other forms of physical communication.

By their standards, he's useless.

And I agree with them.



Anyhow. Additional day off today. During which I shall be nowhere near cigar smokers or beer drinkers. Or blinkered members of the judicial branch.




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