The quality of my Wednesday hinges on where some 17-year-old decides to go to college. PGP.

“Minimum of 3-5 years of related functional experience.” PGP.

A question in the subject line with nothing in the actual email. PGP.

I am literally dead inside. PGP.

The new secretary is a snaggletooth. PGP.

Having to create a word document to keep track of your usernames and passwords. PGP.

The only thing I want for my birthday is a Dyson. PGP.

The hotel I’m staying at blocks “inappropriate” websites. PGP.

I’m the only one in the office that doesn’t play Clash of Clans. PGP.

My job required me to use a typewriter today. PGP.

Mondays are the Left Shark of the work week. PGP.

Meal replacement bars and shakes make up the base of my food pyramid. PGP.

Brought in leftover buffalo chicken dip for lunch today. PGP.

The good news is that Nationwide commercial might have bought me some time with the wife’s plans to have kids. PGP.

Fell asleep during the 4th quarter. PGP.

“You watch the game last night?” PGP.

“I can’t imagine ever not enjoying getting fucked up. I love it.” -Donnie Azoff. PGP.

1: “Did you read the guidelines?” 2: “I glanced at them.” PGP.

Fearing the consequences. PGP.

I’m really going to be surprised if I make through the first 90 days of this job without getting fired. PGP.