My options are limitless

Well, not quite limitless, but more limitlesser than they would be if our phones worked here at work. They aren't working, hence, nothing to do.

MY OPTIONS ARE LIMITLESSLIKE!

So I choose to write a blog about not having anything to do, naturally.

Now I am done. 3.5 minutes wasted.

Right on.

I'm Bored

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Carcinogenic Diet Coke

I am not a diet soda drinker. Anyone who knows me can attest to that. I just overheard a conversation here at work about the lack of studies of the effects of long-term consumption of large quantities of diet soft drinks. To sum up, my coworker fears he will become victim to a new breed of cancer caused by Diet Coke in his latter years.

That would suck. However, if this new cancer would also allow its victim to fly, I think I would start drinking ten gallons of Diet Coke a day, starting now.

You ask, "So, you would willingly subject yourself to [diet] cancer for the ability to fly?" I answer, "You bet."

Lots-o-Thursdays

If I were keeping good track of my life, I would know that today marks the 1,627th Thursday of my life. That's a freaking huge number.

As of right now, I have been alive for 11,382 days, 19 hours, or:

• 983,474,246 seconds
• 16,391,237 minutes (rounded down)
• 273,187 hours (rounded down)
• 1626 (complete) weeks

What do I have to show for all that time? Dunno. I figure I can knock off the first two years as an "I was a baby and couldn't do anything productive" period. That takes some of the sting out of my non-accomplishments.

Happy flipping Thursday!

What I'm not doing

A couple of my coworkers have decided to undertake the huge and daunting task of writing a book(s). One each, respectively. They are pretty awesome writers and I'm sure they'll do great. I, however, am making the official announcement as of right this moment that I have decided to NOT write a book.

YAY!

Why, you ask? Well, seeing as I can't even write a blog to save my life, I figure trying to come up with literally TENS of pages of cohesive awesomeness that would even slightly intrigue my would-be reader is most likely outside the scope of my ability. Thus, I shall not write a book.

The only way I could possibly pull something like that off is if I wrote a book of poetry. I hate poetry. I like songs, but that's like poetry with music. Poetry without music is dumb. To me, anyway. You can have your own opinion, but mine is the only one I care about in this particular matter.

So there.

No book, no cry.

No
Book
No
Cry