I hate my job.
I hate these humans.
I hate my boss!
Most of all I hate my boss. Oh he's a slick one all right, Tres, is. He's got a soma what fits in right nice with the monkey boys... that is when they see him. He's one tough looking tall hombre, all big muscles, black eyes and blacker hair.
But me... I'm not impressed with the glamour but with what jobs he gives me... and what does he give? Observation! Always observation! Watch this Aimless. Watch that Aimless. Old Aimless is tired of watching monkey boys and girls. I didn't come up from detention to be a bloody video camera.
Now Jack Crack gets some right righteous assignments. Draws a little blood he does. Some say he's even got to mix it up with some Administration types. I hear tell he even gets to go to the shadowlands real soon. It just ain't fair! I've been on this here blue ball decades longer than old Jack and do I get even so much as a vacation.
So here I am stuck among the oblivious watching their mindless cavorting, caterwauling and canoodling. I guess all the wars are fun, the crime and the terrorism, but do they let me play? Keep your head down Aimless. Don't let them see you Aimless. Above all the Administration must not know you're here Aimless. Pah!!! Do I give a rat's ass about the Administration? Those pukes are so busy and befuddled they barely make it through their day serving their pansy, candy assed supervisors.
And it's got worse! In the old days the monkey boys was fine with their guns, and their swords, and their knives, charging about slaughtering each other. There was none of this technology. By the dark god's beard they can't stop changing a thing now! Change, change, change, day in and day out.
Used to be a man could get up in the morning and expect to find his things the way he left them. Now the bloody toilet flushes itself! The horse is gone and the auto starts itself up and tells YOU were to go! Weapons aim themselves and wait for you to pull the trigger. What fun is there in that? The damn teley's got 500 stations what's never got anything good on anyway. The phone's plugged right into your ear now, and everyone's walking around looking like cybermen from Doctor Who (me favorite show although I think the Daleks have been getting the shaft all these years).
And then there's the computers. They're everwhere! Malicious Intent loves the computers. Old Mal is always coming up with new ways to sabotage the Monkey boy's electronic toys, but me I can't stand 'em. They're always crashing, and bleeping and blooping and never do what you tell 'em to anyway. Took me two whole days to figure out this here blog thing and Mal had to help me...
I think I like this blog thing though. I used to keep a diary, but me last one got burned up in Chicago. Three hundred years of entries up in smoke. I was so depressed I stayed drunk for a year and didn't hurt nothing.
Mal tells me these here blogs are backed up. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I know enough about computers that I can get at it from anywhere on this blue ball I go. Mal gave me one of his magic accounts so I can log on from anywhere and do my business. Of course old Tres just wants me to file me reports online. He don't know nothing about this here blog. That's my business.
I guess I got to observe now. I'm watching something called Tickleman's. Christians I think. Nothing I hate more than Christians... cept maybe Tres.
- Aimless
