Corporate Red Tape

Well... I can't remember shit all from yesterday... Even if I'm happy...it's sort of dulled by the fucking pounding in my head. Who the holy hell let me start drinking again? I found five bottles stacked nicely by my trash can, a cold fucking ice bag on my head, and I had a blanket draped over me. Last thing I remember was downing a few older vintages of whiskey I had neglected... After that, it was fuzzy. I think I had one of my Jack dreams, you know? Where she comes back to Sanctuary and finally handles all of the shit, and breaks me out of my depression. Except it wasn't a fucking dream. I woke up and there she was, passed the fuck out on the couch. My couch, which I also face fucking first in, reminding myself why I stopped drinking in the first place. I mean, I call it my couch, since it's in my office... It's Jack's. Sort of. Well, our couch. Usually when she's bored, she slips in, hands me a drink, and just passes out. Been a while sin

(Foreword: Good evening,  readers and Rabbits. As you can clearly tell, this isn't Tag writing his account of our first meeting after I came back to Sanctuary. I would have liked to have written it together with him, but seeing as he's a bit indisposed right now, I'll be taking over his blog for a bit. Hope you enjoy the ride, kids.)  Jack wearily climbed the steps to her once home, eyeing myriad Rabbits happily scurrying by in their haste to.. something. She had lost track of the latest accomplishments, woes, and assignments of her people in the last six months. She had been over the hills and far away: chasing seemingly impossible goals, fighting death, and attempting to survive her own fatalistic nature for so long, the small details of the day to day lives of her friends slipping between her fingers like water. Pushing the heavy red oak door open, she slipped inside quietly. Making no attempt to be seen or unseen. A few passerby she had known more intimately

Depression sucks when you're only really known for being an angry psychopath. Or... tend to be expected to play one at all odd hours of the day. Even psychopaths get down in the dumps.Or sleep enough to try to forget their problems. I'm down. I miss my best friend. She'd give me so much shit for even writing this without trying to call her first. Yes, Jack, I get it,  you're clearly out doing something important and clearing your head, but I miss the hell out of you and the other rabbits are talking... Seems like she's busy, I'll probably hear something from her in the comments. But look, I'm a grumpy old man, I miss my grumpy ass bitch of a best friend, I miss our grumpy ass talks, our grumpy ass jabs, and even her grumpy ass face. I'm sitting in the dark corner of my office, a cup of coffee in hand, and typing this out so it can finally leave my fucking head and I might be able to sleep tonight. You ever feel like something is off? I kn

You know, I always feel like there's some part of me that feels like it's missing. You ever heard of planarians? Type of salt/freshwater little wormy fucks that have an ass, a mouth, and a nervous system. Little bastards tend to be associated with parasitism, and just swim around looking mostly harmless, but unsettling at the back of most peoples minds. Funny thing about them is that you can cut them apart and they always seem to come back. One cut makes Two. Two makes four. Four Makes Eight. Both the same creature yet two totally separate entities.  Funny, how familiar that seems to most people. I seem to forget that it's so funny, but that was part of who I was way back when. I drink to forget but I always remember. Except now the booze is replaced by caffeine and I remember way too much. And my hands keep shaking as I type this, vicious fucking cycle. Remind you of anyone in particular? So, heeding my friend's advice, there are three major players in this l

Look, I've been acting weird lately. Been through a lot of shit in the past... week? Month? Months. It's been months. Haven't been feeling my old, ornery self. Had to deal with a lot of one sided, ill informed communication. Conceptually, the worst day of my life up to this point, no hyperbole fucking necessary. Try getting twenty phone calls in a row without time to even take a shit in the middle of it. That was my day, and honestly, fuck anyone who says they can handle it. Look, I'm the fucking number two of Sanctuary and I nearly blew a fucking gasket. I was so mad that people around me nearly ended up dead. Which is saying something, since I consider myself considerably mellowed out over the years. Definitely would have pissed Jack off, so.. Had to fold into myself a little before that fucking geyser erupted. Softened up a bit outwardly... Less yelling, more like I swallowed an entire jar of body glitter and chased it with a jar of Elmer's paste. Compl

Have you heard? ... Okay, I know what you're thinking. Don Bluth, 1997. Would kill to get tickets to the musical. Tag, what the fuck are you doing, man? My response? I like watching movies in my downtime. Fuck right off. I barely sleep and stick my nose in paperwork. The fuck do you want from me? I like to intersperse my media experiences with happier anecdotes. What do I look like, some sort of fucking nutcase? Point is, certain events are piling up about a certain blue haired... psychopath? Sociopath? Jack. I'm talking about Jack. The person who I affectionately refer to as my best friend, and they're causing some stir around the office. And in Sanctuary. And occasionally when I close my eyes, my fucking dreams! Including a fucking infiltrator. Who.. didn't do anything except give me a cup of coffee and a note.  Or set off any of the Rabbits running the security office. Seemed like a possibly kind and simply put... well mannered spy. The fuck is goin