Man got me by my blue collar

Damn factory I work in, squeezing us-guys down our deepest tissues to get the last drop of blood to fill their larders with.

How much mixed imagery is that?

Cranking this bitch up back in November, I made a solemn vow on the crystalline grave of Jor-El that I would pitch at least three distinct posts a day, some of them mediocre, others of them mediocre, but at least I would keep kicking my legs so that the "Open Water" sharks of graphological inertia wouldn't get me.

Instead, what do I get? Three solid days of toil for a nameless, faceless, corporate entity whos managerial prowess makes Mr. Spacely look like Jack Welch. The upshot is that I've had little latitude to have thoughts or bodily functions of my own, and that's pretty much precluded any creative writing of my own.

Got to find someway to grab back my blue collar from the capitalist barony for whom I fief full-time. I think I'll bring an Uzi to the next Christmas party.