ATTN: ALTY

[Phox]

WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU HAVE BEEN TERMINATED. PLEASE RETURN YOUR VITAL ORGANS TO THE NEAREST LARGE PREDATOR YOU CAN FIND.

SINCERELY,
PHOX CORP.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I was just worrying about Alty earlier, because of that crazy fucking storm up there.

[Phox]

I was just worrying about Alty earlier, because of that crazy fucking storm up there.

No need to worry about him now, madame. We here at Phox Corp. live to serve. He has been served. According to our polar bear tracking unit, served quite successfully, I might add. A family of six enjoyed his delicious entrails, and indeed, are still licking up the remains from the tundra. Quite a spectacular sight. He put up a bit of a fuss, and it appears the paternal figure in the polar bear family is suffering from a bit of a digestive issue, but our trained professionals are on the scene and prepared to clean up with fragmentation grenades, should events warrant.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I was just worrying about Alty earlier, because of that crazy fucking storm up there.

No need to worry about him now, madame. We here at Phox Corp. live to serve. He has been served. According to our polar bear tracking unit, served quite successfully, I might add. A family of six enjoyed his delicious entrails, and indeed, are still licking up the remains from the tundra. Quite a spectacular sight. He put up a bit of a fuss, and it appears the paternal figure in the polar bear family is suffering from a bit of a digestive issue, but our trained professionals are on the scene and prepared to clean up with fragmentation grenades, should events warrant.

Excellent, excellent.

[Salty]

WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU HAVE BEEN TERMINATED. PLEASE RETURN YOUR VITAL ORGANS TO THE NEAREST LARGE PREDATOR YOU CAN FIND.

SINCERELY,
PHOX CORP.

GOOD.

Even before they were turned into something like a cross between cling-wrap and plexiglass my organs were pretty usesless anyway. You can feed them to all the animals you like, they'll just make more things like me. I don't need organs. I've got a suit now. And paintings of giant sailing vessels up on the wall. And unopened champagne sitting around my nice new office that celebrate things I can't even remember. My hair is different now as well, controlled, shapely, held in place by products that cost more than many families live off of in countries I can't imagine and don't want it. Well, perhaps, from some all-inclusive resort where I don't have to worry about what food I'm going to eat, or booze I'm going to use to wash the taste of my life out of my dry, stale, useless mouth. Hell, I don't even have to wipe my own ass here. It's BEAUTIFUL, Phox. Come on in, the water is fine.

I was just worrying about Alty earlier, because of that crazy fucking storm up there.

That's the first I had heard about it, actually. The only weather I pay attention to is the white shit that covers my car in the mornings, and only because I need to pay attention to it so I can get the fuck to where I'm going without dying. I have a JOB for that thankyouverymuch.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I am glad you were not part of the epic storm! Keep on not dying, little rockstar.

[LMNO]

Even before they were turned into something like a cross between cling-wrap and plexiglass my organs were pretty usesless anyway. You can feed them to all the animals you like, they'll just make more things like me. I don't need organs. I've got a suit now. And paintings of giant sailing vessels up on the wall. And unopened champagne sitting around my nice new office that celebrate things I can't even remember. My hair is different now as well, controlled, shapely, held in place by products that cost more than many families live off of in countries I can't imagine and don't want it. Well, perhaps, from some all-inclusive resort where I don't have to worry about what food I'm going to eat, or booze I'm going to use to wash the taste of my life out of my dry, stale, useless mouth. Hell, I don't even have to wipe my own ass here. It's BEAUTIFUL, Phox. Come on in, the water is fine.

The chair swivels, but keeps me upright, facing the screen.  A soft tone alerts me of a new email arriving.  Click.  Type.  Click.  Around me, the office hums and buzzes with the sound of shuffling papers and murmurred conversations, each worker perfectly scriped, crafted, and molded to suit their purpose to the Company.  I stare at the screen, analyzing metrics, checking productivity levels, ensuring quality and efficiency.  There.  There.  Schaeffer is three taskjobs behind Scofield.  Click.  "New".  Type.  Click. "Send".  Back to the reports.  I sit, unmoving save for my eyes and hands, one one a mouse and one on the keyboard.  I am perfect.  I am clean.  I am ruthless.  I am a well-dressed, compliant, useful, necessary machine.  This must be what success feels like.

[Don Coyote]

WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU HAVE BEEN TERMINATED. PLEASE RETURN YOUR VITAL ORGANS TO THE NEAREST LARGE PREDATOR YOU CAN FIND.

SINCERELY,
PHOX CORP.

GOOD.

Even before they were turned into something like a cross between cling-wrap and plexiglass my organs were pretty usesless anyway. You can feed them to all the animals you like, they'll just make more things like me. I don't need organs. I've got a suit now. And paintings of giant sailing vessels up on the wall. And unopened champagne sitting around my nice new office that celebrate things I can't even remember. My hair is different now as well, controlled, shapely, held in place by products that cost more than many families live off of in countries I can't imagine and don't want it. Well, perhaps, from some all-inclusive resort where I don't have to worry about what food I'm going to eat, or booze I'm going to use to wash the taste of my life out of my dry, stale, useless mouth. Hell, I don't even have to wipe my own ass here. It's BEAUTIFUL, Phox. Come on in, the water is fine.

Even before they were turned into something like a cross between cling-wrap and plexiglass my organs were pretty usesless anyway. You can feed them to all the animals you like, they'll just make more things like me. I don't need organs. I've got a suit now. And paintings of giant sailing vessels up on the wall. And unopened champagne sitting around my nice new office that celebrate things I can't even remember. My hair is different now as well, controlled, shapely, held in place by products that cost more than many families live off of in countries I can't imagine and don't want it. Well, perhaps, from some all-inclusive resort where I don't have to worry about what food I'm going to eat, or booze I'm going to use to wash the taste of my life out of my dry, stale, useless mouth. Hell, I don't even have to wipe my own ass here. It's BEAUTIFUL, Phox. Come on in, the water is fine.

The chair swivels, but keeps me upright, facing the screen.  A soft tone alerts me of a new email arriving.  Click.  Type.  Click.  Around me, the office hums and buzzes with the sound of shuffling papers and murmurred conversations, each worker perfectly scriped, crafted, and molded to suit their purpose to the Company.  I stare at the screen, analyzing metrics, checking productivity levels, ensuring quality and efficiency.  There.  There.  Schaeffer is three taskjobs behind Scofield.  Click.  "New".  Type.  Click. "Send".  Back to the reports.  I sit, unmoving save for my eyes and hands, one one a mouse and one on the keyboard.  I am perfect.  I am clean.  I am ruthless.  I am a well-dressed, compliant, useful, necessary machine.  This must be what success feels like.

[Salty]

Even before they were turned into something like a cross between cling-wrap and plexiglass my organs were pretty usesless anyway. You can feed them to all the animals you like, they'll just make more things like me. I don't need organs. I've got a suit now. And paintings of giant sailing vessels up on the wall. And unopened champagne sitting around my nice new office that celebrate things I can't even remember. My hair is different now as well, controlled, shapely, held in place by products that cost more than many families live off of in countries I can't imagine and don't want it. Well, perhaps, from some all-inclusive resort where I don't have to worry about what food I'm going to eat, or booze I'm going to use to wash the taste of my life out of my dry, stale, useless mouth. Hell, I don't even have to wipe my own ass here. It's BEAUTIFUL, Phox. Come on in, the water is fine.

The chair swivels, but keeps me upright, facing the screen.  A soft tone alerts me of a new email arriving.  Click.  Type.  Click.  Around me, the office hums and buzzes with the sound of shuffling papers and murmurred conversations, each worker perfectly scriped, crafted, and molded to suit their purpose to the Company.  I stare at the screen, analyzing metrics, checking productivity levels, ensuring quality and efficiency.  There.  There.  Schaeffer is three taskjobs behind Scofield.  Click.  "New".  Type.  Click. "Send".  Back to the reports.  I sit, unmoving save for my eyes and hands, one one a mouse and one on the keyboard.  I am perfect.  I am clean.  I am ruthless.  I am a well-dressed, compliant, useful, necessary machine.  This must be what success feels like.

[Kai]

Even before they were turned into something like a cross between cling-wrap and plexiglass my organs were pretty usesless anyway. You can feed them to all the animals you like, they'll just make more things like me. I don't need organs. I've got a suit now. And paintings of giant sailing vessels up on the wall. And unopened champagne sitting around my nice new office that celebrate things I can't even remember. My hair is different now as well, controlled, shapely, held in place by products that cost more than many families live off of in countries I can't imagine and don't want it. Well, perhaps, from some all-inclusive resort where I don't have to worry about what food I'm going to eat, or booze I'm going to use to wash the taste of my life out of my dry, stale, useless mouth. Hell, I don't even have to wipe my own ass here. It's BEAUTIFUL, Phox. Come on in, the water is fine.

The chair swivels, but keeps me upright, facing the screen.  A soft tone alerts me of a new email arriving.  Click.  Type.  Click.  Around me, the office hums and buzzes with the sound of shuffling papers and murmurred conversations, each worker perfectly scriped, crafted, and molded to suit their purpose to the Company.  I stare at the screen, analyzing metrics, checking productivity levels, ensuring quality and efficiency.  There.  There.  Schaeffer is three taskjobs behind Scofield.  Click.  "New".  Type.  Click. "Send".  Back to the reports.  I sit, unmoving save for my eyes and hands, one one a mouse and one on the keyboard.  I am perfect.  I am clean.  I am ruthless.  I am a well-dressed, compliant, useful, necessary machine.  This must be what success feels like.

This makes me depressed, because I want that too. Except I know I shouldn't want it, but I want it all the while.

[LMNO]

Minus the seething subversion and rampaging libido, that's pretty much my job.


ENVY ME, MORTALS.

[Eater of Clowns]

Medic 2 go to Med Channel 8 for Charlton...BEEP...Charlton you have Medic 2 with a Priority 3.
Medic2gotoMedChannel8forCharlton...BEEP...CharltonyouhaveMedic2withaPriority3.
Medc2gotMdChanl8frCharltn...BEEP...CharltnyouhaveMedc2withaPriorty3.
Mdc2gtMdChnl8frChrltn...BEEP...ChrltnyhvMdc2wthaPrrty3.
MD2GMCH8FRCHR...BEEP...CHRLYHMD2WPRT3.
M2GTMC8FC

...

BEEP

...

CYHM2WIRHHAHHAHHAHHAH