Justice O'Connor

"Money like water will always find an outlet."


Too bad I'm in the middle of the friggin' Monetary Dust Bowl. I'm pretty sure the only thing that's flowing here is severe allergenic attacks. I wonder if there's a black market for epi-pens here...people stumbling in a rampant wasteland of rusty syringes. Meh, nah. I think I'll stick to my street corner. But seriously, damn do I wish there were a money outlet, maybe a faucet in my bathroom? Because right now, I'm planning a covert mission to the nearest wishing well, tiptoeing up to it with a brown sack and snorkeling mask, diving in to reap the glorious pennies beneath. I'm aiming for at least a dollar. Sadly, that would be a 10% increase in my current bank account. Damn.

Regrettably, in the real world, people have jobs. And unfortunately for me I have one of the nicest and possibly MOST ANNOYING bosses ever. However, my inner comedian does quite delight in the fact that I can use M as their code name, seeing as said individual's name begins with the 13th letter of the English alphabet. Delicious. 8D What is not so scrumptious however, is the incessant chatter which spout's from M's mouth from the moment M arrives to the lab until the moment M leaves. And fuck me sideways if it isn't the most annoying damned thing on the planet. Now, dearest readers, I know this might shock you, but I appreciate more than anything on this shining planet well-articulated SILENCE. If you have nothing valuable to say, then shut the hell up. Chit chat, chit chat, from the first damned moment M walks through the door.



Welcome to Hell sweet cheeks.



Why me??


Lemme let you in on a little secret about the inner workings of a recently discovered creature, affectionately nicknamed Holly. It takes this sluggish creature a good five or six or you know, twenty four hours, to wake up in the morning. During this period of time, a Holly finds it quite near impossible to form a coherent, much less intelligent sentence, or for that matter, sentence fragment, or for that matter, a single word known to any of the roughly 6500 spoken languages. One might expect grunts and snarls reminiscent of our late Neanderthal relatives and the occasional birdie. After several hundred cups of coffee, one might be fortunate enough to elicit a classy "piss off". So, needless to say, I am NOT in the mood to discuss the DUMBEST of topics when I'm fresh off the morning rush hour traffic.

God, sometimes M makes me want to shave my damned face off with a cheese grater and gouge my ears out with a freaking ice pick. I've said it before and I'll say it again, shut the hell up. I mean, at first I just thought M was trying to be friendly, wanting to get to know me better and make me feel more comfortable in the lab. But then I realized that M has the most scatter-brained mind I've ever been exposed to. Like Sherlock friggin' Holmes. Maybe I should invest in a violin. Either that or a pair of well-concealable ear plugs. And M's favorite topic of conversation- the organizing quest of our crap-shoot of a lab. If there's one thing I hate more than a sunny personality and the general stupidity of modern society it is anything related to cleaning and organization. Us lazies would rather wallow in our own filth than find a vaccuum cleaner and some clothes hangers. But this, this is ten-fold worse. And why?? Because it involves the organization of five fridges each with approximately 1000+ samples in each. And who gets the pleasure of this task. Muah. UGH, slap an apron on me and smuggle me some illegal pills, I'm going in. Oh, and don't forget the knee highs and noisy gum.

But the thing is, I think I've finally figured it out. Perhaps M likes to talk to preoccupy her mind, a dull white-noise of sorts, behind which her brain can think, or at least, that's what I damned-well hope because this is really starting to wear on my already pissy and dark mood. If it weren't for the fact that I really need my epi-pen fix, I'd be gone in a faster than the starship Enterprise at Warp 8.