Spitting Beasts

The people in the marketing department are on crack.

I'm not joking.

They also had a group lobotomy recently.

'Cause they SUCK at planning projects and seem to think, "Hmmm...maybe if I don't DO the things I'm supposed to do, they'll just GO AWAY!"

Daft fuckers.

I'm having to bust ass today and through the week to get year end processes finished because, WHY?, because marketing spent two weeks debating having to do the procedures THEY need to do before the REST of us can do our work. And saying things like, "WHY do we do this?" And we implored, "Because it WORKS!"

Yesterday we had a 'Come To Jesus' meeting and had it out. I/We presented the reasoning side, they presented the lazy side. And I/We won out. Hey, idiots, the IT department DOES know what they're talking about, you smarmy overpaid babies.

The head idiot is 30 years old and just moved out of his parents house (he paid no rent, his mom did his laundry and made his meals, they decked his basement bachelor pad out with a media center...yeah, most of us wanted to bitch-slap him). He's a nice guy, but very very lazy. Seeing that we gave him the rope to hang himself yesterday in front of his boss, he's getting a tasty dose of reality.

Heh heh.

BUT, because I'm dealing with their crap, and because my intended writeup will take me a while (Orange, it's coming, but I'm having to do homework!), I'm leaving you with a link to a llama song that half my family sang repetitively this past weekend, and which I woke up singing this morning, like some bizarre nightmare.

I think you need Flash. And it's obsessive. Sorry 'bout that.

The llama link is here. Turn the sound down. Bring the kids in, it's clean.

The one "L" lama, he's a priest.
The two "L" llama, he's a beast.
And I'll bet a silk pajama
There isn't any three "L" lllama.