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2002-07-17 | 2:36 p.m.

Assignment was due Monday morning. Not my fault--not entirely--no, no, definitely not my fault this time--but it is only a fraction of an inch closer to being done than it was Friday night. And that IS my problem. Oh, fuck me! I hate when I get into this situation. At long last, I have been given something to go on, but it's not only incomplete, it's indecipherable. Gibberish. I'm supposed to translate this into appealing English so as to lure unsuspecting job applicants. And the sources keep telling me that there's no way it should be done the way I'm supposed to do it, but I have no power to stop anything from happening. Nor do they. No one even knows where the edicts are coming from. I must contribute my bit, so that it may be eliminated further down the line.

I told my editor that next time, I would prefer to write about the Emperor's New Clothes department. "Right," he said. "If you can't read this, you can't work here."

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