Bring out your dead!

I’ve been instructed to tell you that I am still alive – at least nominally. On the other hand, I could just be a clone and my original body has been origamied into the freezer we keep in the archive for some reason. There’s a hefty lock on it and nobody seems to know where the key is, so short of bringing in my bolt-cutters, I can only speculate.

I do know that my company will be in weapons-grade doo-doo if I expire before completing my current project, so while they are invested in keeping me functional, the task deadlines are stupidly unreasonable and that places some rather onerous demands on my time.

Home life continues to emulate a kinetic sculpture fashioned out of a spinning fan and ballistic turd launcher and I’m not strong enough to get into that just yet. What do we say to the God of Disaster? Not today!

Those who can, do

Damn.

I was hoping they’d only discover that I was irreplaceable after they’d given me the boot. Clearly the boss is more cunning than hitherto suspected. Still, I figure if I am to be made complicit in engineering my own redundancy, then I can at least have a little fun with it.