Brace Yourselves Then Decide.

The one from New York, the one who would have nothing to say if he weren't from New York, dropped the biggest ego-tripping cluster bomb the other day. It was amazing, even though I can't remember the exact words, and at the time I thought I should duck, but it was too amusing watching the ass-tard just try to suck the words back down his gullet. I think you could actually hear the sucking of air. I think he was drunk. Drunk on drink and nostalgia acquired over a two hour dim sum lunch with former co-temps.

The one from New York's eyes dart around frantically like a puppy looking for a fresh lap whenever the conversation turns away from him or some desperately obscure piece of ancient trivia about, wait for it, New York.

I've actually been there, seen it, when the one from New York does a conversational b-line (to another person, not another topic) when the conversation ceases to be sufficiently about something which interests him, himself.

I know most people are like this. I simply avoid them too much to notice. All of them. But work sort of forces us together like a super-collider or some shit. It's bullshit really, but I got a vacation to look forward to, and some magazines to peruse, and I might as well say it, it wouldn't be half bad if there were just one decent looking guy I wouldn't mind to fuck. You know, a little work eye candy? It's really nothing but a bunch of twee-turds, the one from New York, and the boss who does too much blow. Especially during a Yankees game, which I have to admit I find sorta cool.