A great animated character once said, "Work sucks."

Another soul-crushing day at the Spirit Sapper.

I'm good for a job for about two years before I start getting happy feet and want to dance my way elsewhere. The first week of October is my two-year anniversary in my current position.

Doom is a jerk. I don't need to count the ways - he just is. I've detailed previously the magnitude of his idiocy, and I won't do it again. It's becoming all I can do just to show up in the mornings and sit through another 8 hours of his hair-trigger temper (when he's in a bad mood) or my forced laughter (when he's in a good mood) - I almost prefer the former, because then my laughter is genuine.

I can say, however, that I will eternally have at least one up on him - even if I completely lose all of my faculties, become blind, incontinent, have a stroke and am required to be under 24-hour care the remainder of my days.

Doom received some new modular furniture for his office yesterday. He felt like he was entitled, so OK. When he was out of the office, I snuck in, sat on his desk and rubbed my butt across it, all around. I'll leave it your call as to whether I left my pants up.

When the One Great Scorer comes to write against my name, He'll look at me, review the videotape, then high-five me and say, "That's how you play the game."