Polishing brass on the Titanic.

Hello, Monday! I'd have so much to write about if I could write about work. But I don't feel like getting sued. But as long as you've seen "Office Space" or BBC America's "The Office," you get the exact picture. Yeah, it's funny, but it's painful, too. I wish it could be more entertaining and less real. Oh well. One day closer for us all to being able to forget most everything wrong about it.

I feel seven thousand years old this morning. It's because I crawled all around in the attic yesterday. It's bigger up there than I thought. And hotter, too. I think part of my brain dried out and is stuck to the back of my sinuses. It was almost hallucinogenic at times. After seeing the tiny, hamster-hole that the big, round cable guy crawled through to run my cable modem into the front of the house, I'd like to find him and give him a pie. No, really.

Be right back, we're going to buy new office chairs. New chairs, can you believe it. I know I can't. Michael's finally imploded upon itself and keeled over sideways, and mine has always been a big piece of ergonomically incorrect shite. I can now refer to it as The Hobbler. Stephen King could make a million bucks off a chair like this that renders legs numb and strangles a butt to sleep. Goodbye, you bastard chair. If only I could set you on fire and toast marshmallows on you.

While I'm away building my new chair and intermittently working exactly like a sucka, here's something extemporaneous for you...

In one word: Cool.