C h i n d o g u

The axe fell swiftly and quietly, as is the wont at Corporations Across This Great Country Of Ours. We’ll Continue To Keep You On Hold, said My Supervisor with rehearsed blandness. If You Ever Want To Help Out On The Weekend, Let Us Know.

Over lunch, The Lawyer told me about a documentary project that had been axed because of Daniel Pinchbeck’s wild paranoia about the covert dealings of The Scientologists. I thought: Don’t You Think That Pinchbeck Has A Vested Interested In Sabotaging Any Project That Isn’t Under His Control?

Lunch left me with a strange, lifelike feeling. It was the seaweed.

My supervisor’s Supervisor walked past me down the stairs having also left early. What Are You, Panhandling? he jabbed. At the end of my undergraduate years I was voted Most Likely To Be Homeless.

And if I end up toothless, deranged and homeless, I will shout¬†J’Accuse¬†at every last one of them. Who will laugh and buy me dentures? Uh oh, The Scientologists Are Listening.

Some people have a deep, instinctual knack of digging into your soft spots.

P l a y t h i n g . . .