rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

edit: this devolved into a post where I work in as many Steven Seagal titles as I possibly could. 

it’s 2 am. time for more late-night bullshit.

“Above the Law” is on. and for those of you that don’t understand, that means put on your girly underwear and lie prone; Steven Seagal is coming through.

my brother called me tonight on his way to the West Virginia game he got tickets to. I was gonna go. but I’m working instead. he was in Cumberland.

“I’m only going to ask once. can you get off work tomorrow?”
long sigh. “no.” 
“you’re now on the one strike rule.”
“what’s that?”
“any time I ask you about a West Virginia activity, you get one strike. so we got Auburn at home next year, and if you’re still around, you can’t say no.”

I’m not going to the game tomorrow. I have to go to work. and I’m not going to lie, that fucking sucks. really. 

my ex-boss has only been gone a week, and it feels like a month. it’s kind of like being under seige (Seagal again!). like, which one of the last two copy editors will drop the ball first? when you’re responsible for the A section, night after night, you’re bound to slip up eventually. and I’m starting to play the odds.
but.
without a supervisor there, all executive decisions (Seagal, natch) get passed down directly to me. I could basically do anything I wanted, and slip it past the city desk. maybe a dick joke or two. it would eventually put me on deadly ground (that’s three) with the management, but it’d be worth it. I need that fire down below(four, fuck you)  in my life again. and I’m not getting it at my job.

annnd, that’s more than enough.