So we drink, we drink to forget and to forgive. To forget the past 5 days, and forgive ourselves for what we're about to do in the next two. To forgive ourselves for not becoming what we always dreamed. To forgive ourselves the rampant complacency that has taken a hold of us as we watch our lives slip away, one company-wide email at a time.

So we drink. Like rabbits f*ck, we drink, from close of business to close of bar, we imbibe enough alcohol in one sitting in the vein, fruitless attempt to carve out just a smidgen of fun in an this suddenly barren, bleak, pale existence we call our lives.

Okay, I think I'm getting a bit too depressing. It's Friday after all, as I was just reminded by Kelly, our sales engineer, as I was typing this. Actually, I should be clearer, she said, 'Hey hun, T.G.I.F, right?' I should have replied 'L.O.L Kelly, hopefully we both get a little T.L.C tonight, oh, B.T.W, f-off.'

Kelly's a nice girl; I should take this out on her.

So we drink. Like Republicans lie or Democrats waiver, we drink; we drink more than Market Street smells. We drink more than the Muni line 30, 41, and 45 through Chinatown blows. We drink more than Ted Kennedy's third liver could ever hope to possibly expunge. We drink because we can. We drink because we must.

Now of course, there are some of you out there who like their jobs. A few who dare use the word 'love.' But you're not reading this, b/c you're busy doing what you enjoy, not scouring CL for something or someone to buy/sell/trade/dump/f*ck/rant/rave/find/steal/lie to/lie about/and all other things Craig.

We drink because Katie, our manager, is so insecure she actually makes breathing awkward.

We drink because Bruce, the VP of being a incredible ass-face (and Biz-Dev) insists upon wearing enough cologne to the point where lighting a match anywhere near him is potentially life threatening.

We drink because Michael, the homophobic advertising guy, gets all red in the face if you call him 'Mike'. So of course, we call him Mike often, cutting off the 'e' at the end to emphasize the point that we're really, really enjoying it.

We drink because if we have to endure one more Friday afternoon meeting, we might just projectile vomit in Kevin's glandular, gnome like face. Just because you don't have a life doesn't mean the rest of us want to sit down at 4:45 on a Friday to discuss the company's direction for Q3. You see Jeff's left eye twitching? I'd give this meeting another 3 minutes before he reaches across the table and pulls one of your ears off, Kev. The man's in a custody battle for his children and you're taking time away from his weekend with them because you're a selfish, horrible man. And if Kevin does blow, you can bet your ass Mitch, the North West sales manager will. I swear that guy starts off cooking some chicken by biting their heads off. Do you hear his unending finger tapping on the faux-marble table? Notice how the pace quickens every few minutes? Well Kev, you've got a few more seconds of being a bullsh1t blowhard until Mitch pulls your heart of your f'ing chest.

We drink because there's no such thing as a good week of work.

We drink because if Jessica doesn't say, 'this is a mission critical decision' at least 4 times a week, it means she was out sick three days. Jessica, it's an office supply order for Staples, how in HOLY HELL is that mission critical? Do you even know what mission critical means? Do you? You're the office manager, not the board chairman, the phrase 'mission critical' should never, EVER come out of your mouth. It's a stapler, not a funding request, chill out.

We drink because there is no such thing as a uni-sex bathroom. It's a girls bathroom people. You wonder why us guys leave the office at least twice to three times a day, not including lunch? It's because we have to shit, and we can't very well sh1t in that veritable Globe Theatre of a restroom, where every sound is amplified ten fold. The one time I just had to go (note to Jessica, now that was a mission critical decision) and simply couldn't make it to the hotel across the street (those people must have caught on that I'm not staying there, considering they see me every day) I took a sh1t in the uni-sex bathroom, and what ensued was an anal-philharmonic, led by yours truly, in which the entire office was privy to every fart, grunt, and bowel-related sound effect I had to offer. I felt like taking a bow when I got out, possibly chugging some coffee and going in for an encore. So no, it's not uni-sex, it's a girl's room. You might as well stick a huge tampon on the door with a note reading 'No Y Chromosomes allowed'. Oh, and Regina, I salute your utter shamelessness when it comes to sh1tting. I've never, ever seen a women carry the paper under arm when she walks into the bathroom. Truly, classic stuff.

We drink because we know Ted's gay, the whole office knows Ted's gay, Ted's friends and family know Ted's gay, and we're pretty sure at this point Ted must be vaguely aware he's gay, yet he still insists upon talking about all the 'hot ass' he 'tags' over the weekend. Note to Ted, it's not working amigo, when you can recite more show tunes than Nancy, who worked on Broadway in Manhattan for 4 years, well, it's time to take the jaws of life to that closet door and step out into the world the way you were intended.

Thing is Ted, everyone likes you, you're good people, and coming out won't change that, it will simply save us from the intensely awkward experience of suffering through one of your bullsh1t 'she was so hot and then we did this and that' stories. How come we never see this girls Ted? How come they never call, never email, and what's that stain on your shirt? It doesn't look like mayo.

We drink because we all know that 'lunch and learn' really means this will be the worst lunch you'll have all week as we're forced to share low-rent burritos at Chevy's and listen to some hired-gun of a sales guy tell us all how we have to 'want it' more than the other guy. Hey Chet, this is software sales, not rugby, now fooooook off.

We drink because Amanda in finance is hot, and Tom in HR thinks he's going to bang her, and as God in heaven is my witness, if he does I will completely shut down and cry myself to sleep, because Tom in HR is quite possibly a larger d-bag than Kevin, and should he bed Amanda, well, then..nothing is right in the world. We drink because we're afraid that might happen, and we drink because we're too afraid to talk to Amanda, save for the pathetic 'warm today' comment we threw at her on Tuesday. No sh1t it's warm today, she too must come from outside like the rest of us, it's not as if she wakes up, showers, than steps in her transporter and beams herself to work. She goes outside too, you phuque. And by you, I mean me.

We drink because we're almost positive Brett and Stu are get stoned at lunch, and we're pissed they haven't invited us along yet.

We drink because the last time someone said something funny at work it was completely unintentional, and it revolved around a Freudian slip when Kev, at the end of one of his marathon Friday meetings, was trying to answer Mitch's constant interjections over our marketing budget but also trying to keep Brian quiet and ended up trying to speak to them both at the same time, calling Mitch 'bitch'. Hilarious. The fact that Kev survived that meeting is a testament to the fact that he's like a cockroach, and could survive anything. A nuclear holocaust ensues, we're all deadand there will be Kevin, holding court in a Friday afternoon meeting with three charred corpses and half a human head, wondering aloud where everybody is?

We drink because calling our work weekend in Reno a 'retreat' is an oxymoron. It's not a retreat, it's an assault, an assault on everything we hold dear - how DARE you ask me to give up a weekend to go to a conference with the whole company in Reno. I'd rather eat Kevin's shit. Okay, that's a little too far. I'd rather throw sh1t at Kevin. Actually, come to think about, throwing sh1t at Kevin would be kinda high on my list of things to do over a weekend.

We drink because Shelly has now tried to arrange four different happy hour get togethers and the only one who shows up is Kelly and Mitch, and the only reason Mitch shows up is because he's a drunk. We drink at some other bar, out of sadness for Shelly. And Mitch.

We drink because the thought of Monday is enough to make us cry.

And finally, we drink because in the end, when it's all said and done, we have much to celebrate. We are lucky enough to have the luxury of bitching about corporate jobs and cubes and the bullsh1t office when you consider the state of affairs for most of this planet's inhabitants, every day a true struggle, food and a roof over their heads never a certainty, but rather something they strive for. We drink because in the end, we're lucky, spoiled, pampered brats, we know it.

We drink because we can.