Non-Diabetogenic Diuretic

So instead of kicking me out, my dad gave me a raise. (I'm working for his company over the summer, that wasn't a sexual incest-uendo, SICKO.)

What did I do to deserve a raise? Beats the shit out of me. I have a good memory and a dazzling smile, but I spend most of my time fucking around on the web, I don't have any challenging tasks, and the company pays for my lunches. I guess I have to chalk it up to good old nepotism: it's the axis upon which our nation turns.

Let me tell you about an encounter I had yesterday with a staple, to illustrate just how much I don't deserve a raise. (I know, I know, lesbian sex v. staples-I'm falling behind in the post wars.) I'm sure you, fair reader, with all of your life experience, are familiar with these staples of which I speak. (Amazing, you don't look a day over 29/39/49!) You also probably have used what we in The South call a "staple remover." Tricky buggers, they are. You see, I have been working in this office for a good ten weeks, total, and a crucial element to much of my work is unstapling stacks of paper. (Can you handle the excitement?) Even before my venture into the daily grind, I have utilized the staple remover. But today, while using my hands to rip a half-out staple the rest of the way out, I had a rather humbling epiphany.

I, the office ingenue, the fresh-raised nepostic employee, the Ruler of Heaven and Earth, had been using the damn staple remover wrong my entire life.

Bow before me.

And how about the title of this post for a band name? I think it has a nice ring to it.

-G