The Smell of Blood

You sit at your desk, cold oatmeal taunting you from the dirty bowl. Your office is lightly decorated with various zombie and video game material. The walls are vibrating around you and you feel electric. The moment is upon you. You strike quickly and without reserve. The deed is done and the smell of blood rises into your nostrils; now to take care of the paper work.

...

You started your day the same as any other; started your computer, checked your various social networks, had some oatmeal and popped open illustrator. You had vinyl to cut this morning, but didn't turn the plotter on, just yet. Oh, you'll get yours you little plotter, yes you will. Don't look at me like that, I'll turn you on whenever I want. You're not the boss of me!

You turn on the plotter and load some vinyl. You hear co-workers outside your office and know they're talking about you and the company. You feel a mutiny is a foot. Mostly because you were in charge of the last newsletter and you made the entire piece mutiny-themed. You slowly open your office door and a thin trail of smoke bellows out while you beckon your co-workers in. Seeing the smoke they are intrigued and come closer, while still maintaining their distance (you knew that used smoke machine from the Party Palace would come in handy one day. Your 'friends' said that the purchase was asinine, but you knew you would have to create this ambiance one day. Yes, the mood is set and curtains shall soon draw)

You eventually coaxed your co-workers into your lair (yes that's right, I call my office my lair which would make me some sort of super-powered, or magical guy. Which would be awesome) You speak quickly and with wild gestures to your co-workers about a mutiny. They steal your office supplies and leave, spilling a little coffee on your rug. Man, that's going to stain! Ah, screw it... I'll just... use this... cover it up... You re-arrange your office to cover the newest of stains.

The times slowly creeps by until your boss shows up. You almost felt as if the clock was on drugs the time was going so slow, then you remember that you're the one with an office filled with open sharpies, paint thinner, and a smoke machine. You start to cough as your boss enters the warehouse. She stops to look through you're window at the noise, seeing smoke she opens the door. The moment has come... don't back down... KYEA! You strike! You've shown that you are the alpha male and that all shall follow you. You snort and neigh at the receptionist, she fears you and runs out. You hope she got the message that you were trying to tell her: 'I own this company now, bitch. Do the paper work to make it so!' You should have worked more on your communication skills instead of staying in your office alone all this time building a tiny replica of your office out of coffee grounds and oatmeal.

Awwooooo! The moon is as full as your pack. It is time for the hunt! Ties and high heels are shed as the hunt begins! Your pack lumbers towards the nearest building, a bait and hunting shop. Your receptionist growls and whines in their direction. You nod and bust out their sign face and leave a rather scathing note about paying bills on time. You even signed it with full caps, bold, italic. You are truly the Alpha male. None shall submit their will over you.

I hope you all enjoyed a little taste of what my day is like as the Graphic Designer for this sign company in Spokane. I'll see you all later and next time... I'm making the pie! Remember kids, brush yo' god damn teeth!

-Additive