Saturday, March 15, 2003

So I sit my Muse down a few days ago, and you know what happens? She comes in looking like a world of trouble.

My bodyguard, Sir Schitzendippen, gives me that “You want I should tuck her in at the bottom of the ocean, boss?” look, but I wave him away. I want to fire the dame myself, see, and I want to do it with my signature style.

“You. Your stuff. Out,” I tell her, making sure to gesture toward my office door.

Upon hearing my reasonable request, she starts drinking from the SASS FOUNTAIN and spitting in my face.

“What?” she explodes. “Where’s my severance package?”

“Oh,” I tell her in that soft, yet dangerous voice, “I almost forgot! I’ve got your severance package right here.”

I motion to her to lean closer, then I hand her an old tin lunchbox.

“Open it,” I tell her.

“There’s nothing inside!” she says with a huff.

“Oh, wait!” I say to her with a mischievous gleam in my eye. “I forgot to put in a KNUCKLE SANDWICH for ya.”

*POW* Pink-slipped corporate gangsta style, and no soup to go with that sandwich, Muzatch!

That’s a glimpse into my business model, gentle reader. Anyone care to intern here?