dispatch

There is bile rising inside of me. The problem is that it is offered no release and it is creating pressure within the right side of my brain. I normally do not have much trouble with the bile that pumps through my veins because I've always been capable of spitting vitriol in any direction, towards those who deserve it and those who don't. Of course, in the end, it doesn't really matter because everybody deserves the war that I call my words for nobody is innocent.

But lately I've been having bile-block. It's not really such a nice place to be in. Because what's brewing inside of you and what you do are completely different things and results in a strange state of calmness and rational thought, two things that I've never been comfortable with.

The fact is, I've simply be too busy to be the spitting cobra of banality that was my former self. Somewhere along the footpath called life I got entagled in a burning bush of work and romance. An interesting note is that work and romance have always had a strange relationship. When the romance is at its strongest one tends not to want to work and spend every waking hour with the object of affection, but as the romance fades one tends to try spend as much time working as humanly possible. But I digress.

So all the time I would normally spend dreaming up new and more perverse methods to assault the docile society that surrounds me, I now spend either working or trying to get my cock sucked. I know, it is sad and I've heard them all, "slave to the man", "pussywhipped", and my favourite: "lapdog" which pretty much applies to both my professional and personal life.

In defense of my personal life I would like to say that I am NOT pussywhipped, I am merely making the most of this window period of enlightened and desperate women. Now if I can only get my lady to pee on me and film it in order to have proof... then who are you going to call pussywhipped? You useless unperverted scumfucks.

But to illustrate in a more tabular format the effect that the job/romance syndrome has on my daily schedule I have constructed this fine HTML table complete with bolded sections. Behold! My life in one non-nested HTML table:

7am:	Wake up in a haze of confusion
7 - 7:30am:	Stare at ceiling, hate life, turn over, hate life from different vantage point.
7.30 - 7.45am:	Wonder if my employer will believe me if you phone in sick because I have to go for chemo-therapy.
7.46am:	Convince myself that if I don't get up and go to work the economy might collapse.
7.47am:	Push left leg of the bed and rub big toe on the carpet to test the temperature.
7.48am:	Realise I'm late again.
7.49am:	Get out of bed.
7.50 - 8am:	Either take a shower or ponder whether I should take a shower.
8am - 8.10am:	Try bully somebody into taking me to work.
8.10am	Start walking.
8.43am - 9am:	Get to work. Say hi. Go sit at desk and read spam emails and secretly hate everyone for never emailing me.
9am - 11am:	Stare at screen and wonder why the fuck I didn't do something with my life all the while doing work in some automated trance.
11am:	Realise that I actually don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing. Remember job description. Have irrational fantasies of retiring at the age of 30.
11am - 11.07am:	Have a cigarette outside.
11.07am - 13.00pm:	More of the same. Realise I will never make deadline unless I work all night.
13.01pm:	Decide to work all night and finish work
13.02 - 15.00:	Start working with in a frenzy. Work work work!
15.00pm - 15.07pm:	Have a cigarette outside.
15.07pm - 17.00pm:	Work even harder. Wonder when girlfriend will dump me. Work harder to erase thought from mind.
17.01pm:	Start goofing off. Realise that I forgot to eat lunch. Start thinking about what to eat.
17.02 - 17.30pm:	Pretend to work. Wonder what the fuck happens to paycheque every month. Decide to buy booze and get shitfaced.
17.30 - 18.00pm:	Manage to get booze, cigarettes and make it home somehow. Pat myself on the back for my resourcefulness.
18.00pm - 20.00pm:	Drink booze, smoke cigarettes, you know, relax. Perhaps even eat.
20.01pm:	Girlfriend arrives. Doesn't seem like she's going to dump me tonight which is good because I have precious little booze left.
20.02 - 21.30pm:	Listen to girlfriend's breeding fantasies.
21.30 - 22.00pm:	Listen to girlfriend remind me that I'm not part of the breeding fantasies because of weak sperm and the possibility of children with fluff for brains.
22.00 - 22.10pm:	Fuck girlfriend unprotected and secretly wish that one of my weak sperm will make her pregnant so she will be saddled with a soft-headed child who's cinematic taste will never evolve beyond Steven Seagal movies. Be it a boy or a girl.
22.11 - 23.00pm:	Pillow talk. Make plans that will never materialise. Go to sleepy land.
23.01pm - 6.45am:	Try to sleep
6.45 - 7am:	Sleep.

As you can see, I have absolutely no time to let my bile flow and since I'm practically the only fucking person who ever at least attempts to do something for this website it may become problematic. Updates will be few and far inbetween. This website will become a barren landscape of old content and in-jokes.

Of course, I can save this fine website by quitting my job and making my girlfriend dump me... OR, I can write a series of meaningless and long dispatches about my job and love life that will keep my dear, much appreciated reader on the edge of her seat. Yes. That is what I will do!

I will transform this website into a "Sex in the City" for self-loathing anarchists and other internet cafe dwellers. I will revolutionise the sexual revolution and give in depth reporting covering all aspects of the job market. Nihil will become a crossover between Men's Health and The Economist. I will single handedly usher in a new era of alternative media. One with a conscience, topicality, humour and the beauty of love. Free of bile and hatred and oh look its 3pm, time for a smoke.