Today, I am so v. unfortunate to be participating in what the Monkey Profession calls a Charrette. Basically this is a sort of planning retreat where you expend loads of mental energy and refuel with bull shit.
You’re jealous, right?
If you come rescue me, I’ll be yours forever. And I do windows.
How do we rescue you? Smash thru the window, swinging in on a rope? Pull the fire alarm and whisk you away in the confusion?
Are you sure they didn’t say “charade” but slurred, because they’re already drunk, having gotten loaded at the prospect of going to this thing?
I say for the rescue, Dan, there has to be at least one long black car with a door that opens backwards.
Hi there…I’ve been reading you forever (I even linked you, hope you don’t mind…) but I was compelled to comment today because I suspect we are in the same monkey profession. It’s nice to hear another disgruntled voice.