PARDON THE FRUSTRATION

Another week in the tank.
7 more days of my life I'll never get back.
Good ridance.
Turn the page, close the book, shelve the book, then burn the shelf.

Between the 3 day de-programming my kids require after a weekend at the beasts house (that's the X , for newer readers) and the apparent "who can piss me off the most" contest at work, I've had it.
Kids, we've been over this before. Just wake up in the morning, have your pop-tart, and remind yourself that Damon is always right. I promise your day will slide by with the dazzle and glee one might only expect to find at tiger feeding time at a Segfried and Roy show. In other words, do what I say and no one gets hurt.

As if it's not tough enough trying to get my little monsters to behave, the morons who work for me decided this week to forget everything I asked them to do. But I am no stranger to repeating myself. After all, I am the reigning "did not - did too" champion of the house, and when the opportunity arises, I plan on de-throning my daughter in the " nuh uh - uh huh" competition.

The way I figure it, if I'm gonna have to babysit these "adults" all day, I should be able to punish them when necessary.
Give the tile setter a time-out.
Put a carpenter over my knee.
Send the stone mason to bed with no lunch.
Or get 'em all with one swoop and unplug their radios.
Yeah that's it. I have power over the power.
Just remember that this is going to hurt you, more than it hurts me.