On why it's best to turn ones phone off after the third call from angry drunks.

There's really nothing
funnier than leaving
a three-hour liquid lunch
on the Company Dime
at the local biker bar
in the friendly town of Walden
after taking the boss' ten-spot
to load the jukbebox
with the likes of "Y.M.C.A"
Hanson, and "I Touch Myself"
and for that, if nothing else
I still maintain my claim of brilliance.

And the indecipherable
yet clearly agitated
voicemails were almost as priceless
as not getting pulled over
on my way home.