“Get Offa My Back, Bitch!”


Off To Work I Go … One Week Early … It’s Not What You Think … 

My Choice.  At Least Let Me Explain.  It’s Like This …

I’ll Be Alone.  Quarantined In My Office.  Doing Self-Isolating Productive Things I Can’t Do While Working At Home.

… Like Getting My Shit Done – So Others Can Get Their Shit Done – Doing My Pretty Little Part To Help Get The Money Shit Shoveled And Moving …



About A Dozen Empty Desks Sit Nestled In Barren Cubicles – Open Concept Cells – Quiet And Eerie.

Normally, A Gaggle Of Chatty, Catty Cathy’s – Social Non-Distancing Diva’s Of Male Destruction Making My Work Life Unnecessarily Occupied With Nonsense, Passive-Aggressive Mayhem And Whatever Living Hell They Can Concoct And Execute From Dawn To Dusk – Occupy These Vacant Spaces.

They’re Designers.  On Their Best Days, I’ll Confess, They’re Talented, Smart, Hard-Working Good Folks.  I Miss None Of Them.  I’ve Given Them Names.  They Don’t Know About.

And, I’ve Allocated Color Markers In Orange, Purple, Yellow, Green, Pink, Red … Which They Know About.  They Think It’s Simply A Means To Identifying Their Files.  I’ll Explain My Color Theory Another Time.  Spoiler Alert: Dr. Pavlov Would Approve … 



Two-Hundredish … 

Have Been Called Back To The Manufacturing Plant Today.  It’s Re-Opening After Being Closed Since Last Friday.  That’s A Good Thing To All.  Jobs, Money, Life.

I Don’t Know These People.  I See Them Occasionally.  Congregating In The Cafeteria.  Messing Up The Men’s Washroom.  Sprinting In The Parking Lot.

“Whenever I’m In The Plant Giving A Tour To A Client Or Visiting Group Of Design Students On A Class Field Trip … Nosy Workers Gawk At Me Gawking At Them (They Started It) …  I’ll Stick My Tongue Out.  Keep Waggling It Like Gene Simmons In The KISS Army With Fireworks Exploding Behind Me.  It’s All Quite Professional And Dignified …”



Necessary, Yeah, Man …  

That’s What Doug Diggity – Ontario’s Very Own Trumpeter – Big Daddy Blue Said In His Report On Businesses That Are Classified As Essential And Must Stay Open During Whatever We’re Calling This Mess.

“Essential Is Interpretive.  Like Art, But This Isn’t Art.  Neither A Picasso Nor A Garfunkel, Sang The ‘Bare Naked Ladies’ Waxing Goofy About What They’d Do If They Had A Million Dollars To Blow In 1992.  Damn Near Everything Is Interpretative, Subjective, Arguable Today.”

Except One Little Bitch Of A Bugger … I’ll Get To The Himbitch In A Bit.



My Work Tribe Is Not Involved In Health Services Or Food-Related Industries … Not Even Close To The Spectrum Of Saving Lives.  Helping People Is Not What We Do In A Similar Way As Automotive Manufacturers Don’t Help People With The Products That They Make.  Like That.

However, What We Make Is Essential To Every Home, To Every Kitchen, To Every Residential Construction Site.  And, Construction Is Big Business In Our Market.

Here’s The Soft Rub (Sans Happy Ending):

“One in 13 Lucky Workers In Canada Earns Wages Because Of The Construction Industry.  Not Coincidentally, One in 13 Lucky Workers In Canada Earns Wages To Pay Taxes Because Of The Construction Industry.” 



The Mother Bugger Reveal: The High Archon Covidiot XIX Is Himbitch …

“We’ve Had Enough Of This Infectious Prick And His Viral Kind …”

Clearly, He Isn’t Finished With Us.  Not Here.  He’ll Be Loitering Awhile.

… Holding Court As The Helter Skelter Has Only Just Begun On The Left Side Of The Pond.



He Likes To Feed … Nosh On Us … Snack In Our Lungs … 

Himbitch Is A Mean, Nefarious Hombre.  We Know Little Of His Origin.  Sure, His Mother Was A Cross-Pollinating Scabrous Street Whore In Wuhan, Flesh Jumping From Slaughtered Exotic Animal Carcasses To Humans.  But, Aren’t We All, Really?  I Mean, We Can’t Blame Himbitch For What He Is.”

But, He’s Fair And All About Equality.  He Doesn’t Play Favorites.  Or, Give A Thankless Fuck About What Flag You Wave.  Where, Or If, You Pray.  How You Identify.  Your Race, Creed, Conviction …

Nope.  Not When Himbitch Is Doing Himbitch.  Laying The Smack Down Our Throats Is His Only Game.



Himbitch Ain’t Any Kind Of Wonderful … 

Of Course, We’re Enabling Etch Bee.  It’s What We Do.  Feeding The Filthy Animal.

We Can’t Keep Our Dirty Mittens Off One Another.  Away From Each Other.  When Exactly Did We Get So Damn Touchy Feely, Again?

“Yeah, I Want Back In The Huggy Bear Club.  Later.  When The Time Is Right, Darling.”


Image by Ngoc Tang from Pixabay

5 thoughts on ““Get Offa My Back, Bitch!”

    • Michael A. Kuch

      I’m using a measuring tape that I keep extended and locked at 6’ … about the distance from my desk to the door … I poke and trip trespassers. It’s fun. Also, the Festivus Pole is still standing proud, so I have that to joust intruders I their fat, thick melons. All kinds of other projectiles to launch. Failing every line of defence, I’ll tell jokes. They’ll leave. 😳

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