this is the end

I loathe The Doors.

Somebody has promised to buy the Buick! Now I can actually buy a used 180-gallon tank when I see one, and not a moment too soon: Last night, I had a terrible dream that Fluffy had jumped out of her house and shriveled up on the floor. Oh, I felt awful when I woke up. She's doing fine -- I checked.

grumble

Some deranged fossil (too much Just for Men and Ginkgo biloba) who used to work here ordered thousands upon thousands of dollars of reagents that have been sitting on the shelves for up to of 31 years. My boss found three unused Quantikine hTGF-beta assay kits yesterday. Three expired unused Quantikine hTGF-beta assay kits, at $500 a pop.

If a rich guy bumped into me and knocked over my ice cream cone on the street, and he felt so bad about it that he gave me $1000, I'd have a tank built for Fluffy immediately. That would never happen, because I don't eat ice cream much, and because I'd have to pay the buick_project credit card bill first.

I think there's something wrong with me. I'm going to go home and lift heavy things. It's like hitting CTRL+ALT+DEL.