Step Increases, Holla!

All that 9 to 5 stuff is wack. I got it goin' on with 8:30 to 5, when I be situated at the pimpest job of all. Check out these dope reasons explaining my stable-as-all-hell direct deposit cash flow:

1. Answering the phones has long been an unfortunate area of responsibility for me, my syntactic and vocabular decisions overly clueless. Now, however, I have been gifted verbatim the genius language of upper management. No longer will I have to embarrass my institution with my peasant-informed phone greetings!

2. Fuck jeans. They are so low-class anyway.

3. Only special and specific colors appear on the approved-for-replenishment list of paper colors. These are: blue, grey, ivory, lavender (not violet), yellow, goldenrod, and tan. Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout.

Totally Delicious!

Suddenly things became very ironic for Sunny.

Moving Up in the World

Never mind its suicidal flight pattern, a last minute reverse move to intersect my vehicle's unchanging direction. I killed a bird, a female tri-colored blackbird, and her death agonizes me. Everyone's been offering the same line of consolation to a sobbing Sylvia: that human life is more precious than that of any bird. I have to admit, I find myself sort of smirking at the swell idea that my life is precious and that I'm human. For reals! I'm not really a Care Bear! I suppose now I could employ my human potential and write to the people responsible for setting a freeway in an animal infested location.

Blog Off.

Hello, gorgeous readers. The author of Mediocrity has returned from Iowa to shut down the joint and file for divorce...from her own pissy-arsed moodiness. Oh dear, I discover from my forced British jargon that I am fictionally English like fictionally English Madonna and her fictionally commendable tale about a gang of jaundinced schoolgirls whose excremental attitudes take up most of the book, belaboring the boring fact that they be hatin' on the unwittingly ghetto-fabulous Binah who duhhhh doesn't quite get why ain't nobody be talkin' to her. For fuck's sake, Binah, you can make plenty of friends on the Internet. Why, you might even start your own blog and bitch about how Oprah's keepin' it real by pushing this pedestrian shit that Madonna must have written on a, mind you, good day.

Web Log

Sylvia is sleeping. In Iowa.