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Well I supose we dont need profits either, no siree we dont have any of those as well.

The belatad Spring 2000 Update in 3 pitiful parts: Febuary, March and April

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Of Part
2 of 3 (March part)

I was not lookin at the road

Somone was coming in the oposite lane on a motorcycle and the steyrofoam tray smashed into there helmet as they passed and exploaded as Chinese style chickan scattored and slathered all over and as the cycle passed I looked behind and saw a few brown syrupy drips of Kung Pow gravy loop upword in the air.

I thoght for a second that mabye the motercycle woud keep going. But no such luck.

As they took the helmet off I I thoght it was probly some mean biker guy who was about to kill me. Oh please, God no God please no God please God NO.

They examined the helmet for a second and then tossed it on the grass. There was food all on the person's windbreakor and this got whipped off an thrown on the ground too. This person was wearin a badge, it was a cop. They started walkin over to the car.

I get hystericol

"I am so sorry," I said. Then in a stern voice I heard, "What the hell is going on here? You swerved ovor to my side of the road!"

I started cryin and believe me it is not a pretty site when I get histericol. Did you ever see the Seinfeld episode when George tries to get Susan to postpone the wedding and he shrewdly yet purpocely puts on this shrieking crying little boy act and he is sobbing uncontrollobly? It is sort of like that exept I dont do it on purpose and it is more humiliatingly pitiful.

"OK, calm down," the person said; "You are going to jail for this!"

I started shreiking and bawling more. I was shakin all over. I was never so scared in my life. "I am so sorry sir!" I said.

"Sir? Dont you know a lady when you see one?" It was a womon cop and she seemed more pissed that I thoght she was a guy. But I did think it was a guy the way she was swaggoring over to me from the motorcycle.

I get roughed up

I did not like it one bit. I mean, it wasnt no Rodney King situation or nothin, but she grabbed my arm and roughley (and it dosent take much strength to shake me arround like a ragdoll) and she made me sit on the grass. As I was layin there she reached behind toword her belt for the handcuffs, and said even in a more pissed voice, "Stop crying!"

Oh, No no no no, no....Alls I wanted was NOT to have the handcuffs put on. There is somthing about havin handcuffs put on that is so irreversably degrading. You pass this line in your life when that happens. When you get the handcufs put on you move from being somone who was always respected by soceity to somone, if even innocent, as being suspected for causing harm. It is indelible. It is sort of like losing your virginity. Of cuorse I dont know what that is like either.

Boy did I start to wail. I can be pretty highpitched and shrill. My voice nevor entirely changed, you know, into a man's voice. I was rolling arround and thrashing around on the grass.

The mortiffication of the moment was stupifying. I felt myself leave my body, and it seemed I was watchin myself from the sky, flopping and twiching on my back and belly in handcuffs in the dirt as my sobs and squeals were silent to loud thunderrous strains of Wagner. I was having a serious Al Pacino episode.

By now the cop was smackin me around. But it was not in anger. It was to calm me out of my hysterrics.

"Do you need an ambulance?" she said. I just kept sayin IM SORRY over and over. I told her what I was doing: How I held the Chinese food out the window becuase my feelings were hurt by the Lady Who screams at Everyone who made sure that everyone had food exept me. I told her I have allot of emotionol problems and am in therapy for a poorself image. I told her I am a fammous internet celebrity but she did not care.

She sat down next to me took me by the shouldors and shook me. This was a tough broad. "You got to get a HOLD of yourself, boy."

Then she said she is not going to run me in. Besides she was off only a Security Guard, not a cop. At least not yet, anyway. She asked me if I was drunk or on drugs and I said no. Then she wrote down my lisence number and name and adress and car insurance company and told me to get the hell out of there. And dont ever, EVER stick no Kung pow chicken out of the window again.

Oh my God. I was numb. I was actualy going to get away with this. Every pulse in my body pounded especialy in my temples.

Withuot even thinking i went back to the Chinese Restuarant and got anothor Kung Pow chicken. This one I had to pay for myself.

When I got back to Conference Room B2B everybody hollored at me cause I took so freakin long. And in all that time, they all had to endure gettin hollered at by the Lady who Screams at Everyone, who, being so acustommed to the sound of her own voice screaming, lost track of time and was the only one who did not think I took too long. Also she is the only one who did not complainn there food was cold, cause hers was not.

When I get back to my cubicol there are two urgent messeges on my phonemail. One is from Granfather who is screamming in violant outrage to remind me to pick up the Febuary issue of Cosmo for him. He kept sayin somthing about, "The Angel" as well "eight othors" and also somthing "burning" but I did not get it all. Knowing Granfather, these were all probly fallen angels, old freinds the old basterd grew up with in the old days back in the pit of hell.

It was a four minute messege but I had to listen to it all becuase Granfather somtimes puts valuable information at the end. He does this on purpose, just to waste my time. There hapened to be no speciel informattion at the end of this particulor message othor than a gratuitous verbol reminder of the fact from Granfather that I am a "Wussy dumbass."

The second urgent message on my phonemail was from Stu. He is bleating and squealing that i shoud immediately get my ass down to this guy Billy's office over in Marketing. Well I do not KNOW Billy from Marketing. I mean, I know who he is but I dont know him personaly. I never worked with him.

I am an unorganized incompettant

Oh, Crap. I knew i was in troubel but I did not know what for. My guess is this Billy fellow must of beeped me at some point and I never responded to his Workstattion Support call. I cant remember a time when I was undor so much pressure.

When I get there I hear people talking. I knock on the door but no one answors. Finaly I walk in the office and it is allmost dark in there. There are about ten guys crowded in there, sittin on the floor, leaning agianst the wall and such. They were all wearin ties. These are the marketing guys. All the Marketing guys keep there lights off, exept if they have a cleint in there. I think they think its cool.

On person in there was not a marketing guy: Mr. Peckushay who was sittin there at Billy's desk while Billy was sittin on a credenza drawor. Mr. Peckushay had his feet on Billy's desk. Just a few slices of light were comin throgh where the verticol blinds were drawn and they lit up his face. It was a mysterious meeting and he looked like a feared potentate there in the weedy jungle surounded by loyal minions who were afraid of him as if we were all in the inner sanctom of some sort of corporate version of "Heart Of Darkness."

Mr. Peckushay was casualy tossing this small foam rubbor ball that was shaped like the planet earth that had some othor company's URL on it up in the air and catching it.

"What's you're name again?," Peckushay said, sort of distracted and just lookin at the ceiling. I didnt know he was talkin to me, (he never talked to me). Some guy next to me poked me. I told him my name.

"Do you know why we're here today, Mr. Miller?"

I said "No." I looked over at Stu, who sort of nodded in a way that meant, "It's going to be all right."

There was anothor long pause.