half past nomad

Deadlines have a certain air, a certain penchant quality about them.
A hint of it, a dash of it, a pinch of it and in a forceful situation, a whole punch of it. Let’s focus on the word in depth.

Broken down the word deadlines comes to: dead + lines.
I think we all understand lines. Straight ones, curvy ones, invisible ones, big bold red ones, these lines exist for one and one purpose alone. To be crossed when your buddies double dare you after you double dared them to try and ride the giraffe at the zoo. Buddies:0 – Giraffe:1

The interpretation of dead may seem to leave little to the imagination, but quite the contrary, it leaves the mind open to a variety of horrors that only a fearful and paranoid mind can successfully produce. Tortures prop up immediately, from the atomic wedgie, to the dream where you show up to school/work and realize you don’t have your pants on and the ultimate horrors of horrors, your parents coming to school because you’re in deep doodoo.

Put together, the word deadlines is an oxymoron in application, doing nothing but enticing morons, idiots, fools, imbecile and dopes to do exactly that. Cross the line in a very stupid yet curious fashion. A morbid desire to learn in a flinching manner. A class lesson with your mouth half open in pure uncertainty of a reaction.

Thankfully, the corporate world is a little different. They prefer to call your wife.

This entry was posted on Saturday, November 15th, 2003 at 6:16 pm and is filed under General Lee.