Ablaahlahbahbalahbalhba. ALHBALHABlahbalhba.

Late last night my boss called with an urgent request, deadline was today at 3. I made it. And here I thought I had just rotated my sleep schedule around to normal.

Kay, on the way home this 40ish guy on a bicycle starts following me and yammering about how there was an interview with Iggy Pop and he was described as having a "Fuck You" face and oh boy how he'd like to see what that looks like. Five seconds later, he's yelling at me about bending his dog tags and how I'm a stupid white guy and he'll get into a battle of wits with me any day (keeping his distance on the bike, of course). He follows me all the way home, then rides down the street calling out "Have a fucked up day!!"

I work all night. My wrists make creaking noises when they slow down enough for the bones to cling.

My boss calls, very enthusiastic about my finished tasks. I am almost too dead to understand what he is saying. All I know is holy christ my boss is yelling in my ear.

Now I'm trying to answer email without sounding like a caveman, but it's probably not completely effective.

Once upon a time, there was a mystical caveman who lived in the primitive land of Yaugh. He made his living bashing big rocks into little rocks and little rocks into powder. This was a very typical job for Yaughians, as most of them were very large and good only at simple minded things. Mystical Caveman, however, was very good at many things that were atypical of the other Yaughites. He could determine the crumbliest of the rocks just by looking. He could preserve his food so that it didn't go bad in a few hours. He could fly light aircraft. He could move things without touching them. One day he decided to crush his own head and he did. The end.