Hold onto your butts, folks: pandering to these Gen Y and Z parasites isn’t just on the menu, it’s the main course. We’ve got to pamper these fragile snowflakes just so they’ll consider gracing us with a few minutes of their precious, TikTok-addled brains.
Monday’s zombies, so hooked on their weekends, are downright bummed to see us again, forced to endure our very existence. They’re everywhere, swarming around us, ready to spit their despair in our faces, merely for being their unchosen comrades. Trapped in a devilish cycle, they battle for five endless days just to relish two pitiful days of some prescribed, scheduled bliss.
We whine and whine, and out of the blue, fate dangles a plush job in a seaside resort for the silver spoon crowd. The project is tantalizing and within arm’s reach. From a reliable source, my profile is a match made in heaven for the decision-makers.
How many times in our fleeting time on this earth do we face a real fork in the road? A choice that will drastically and permanently reroute our existence? Four times, maybe five?
Today marks Father’s Day, and I suppose it’s time to pen a few words about him, to bring to life this man who is my father by biology, but who never opted to play that part. Whether that’s unfortunate or fortunate, I can’t say. The season for resentment has passed.
In the Shady Business Division of the Action Department, my role often sees me stepping into the shoes of a spin doctor. I’m the middleman, leaning where necessary, whispering the right information into the right ears, ensuring the most favorable version of the truth finds its way to the top. We, the urban adventurers who claim the streets as our …
Let’s press pause for a moment, on this fine day, to dive headfirst into a universal plight: management. In this melodrama, we’ll unmask the specter lurking in the shadowy corridors of middle management, the self-styled military strategist, the obnoxious aficionado of Sun Tzu. Sun Tzu devotees are invariably masters of malignant mediocrity. This rule, dear readers, brooks no exception. Allow …
Lire la suiteThe Sun Tzu Fanboy: The Master of Malicious Mediocrity
I listen to Maná, and I love Molotov. I was dragged to a Cafe Tacvba concert in Paris a few weeks ago, but I don’t know Caifanes — or hardly do so. This rock band born in the 80s is nevertheless a must in Mexican popular culture — just like tequila, Lucha libre, or tacos al pastor. So, how can you refuse this remarkable gathering in the mythical Palacio de los Desportes of Mexico City?
Who could watch House of the Dragon after such a betrayal? May 19, 2019. HBO turned me into Reek — the not-so-cocky Theon Greyjoy, emasculated and enslaved by Ramsay Bolton. And I will never forgive that. For eight years. There we were, faithful, waiting week after week to get the fresh episode. Who would end up with a busted head? …
“What good to climb the social ladder if not to gain some interesting perks? All my life, I’ve struggled, begging for favors from scornful cunts. As soon as I neared them, they clenched their asses like cows during the fly season. But one morning, after my one-millionth promotion, I suddenly became handsome, funny and witty. Like magic, I got hot out of …
Lire la suiteDon’t Shit Where You Eat: Golden Rule or Mere Bullshit?
Do you know Ava Max? I don’t. Neither did I, at least until yesterday. I didn’t know anything about the existence of this not-at-all-interesting sub-Lady Gaga. I was still living in a world without Ava Max when me and Mrs. Reznyk, reeking of class and suntan oil, made a bombastic entrance into the Todo Incluido resort’s salon, where we tried to …