You can drink your own damned bathwater all you like, but I'm not sipping. When I'm Empress Of The World, the penalty for that will be you get drowned in it, however badly my executioners have to torture the metaphor to make it happen. Or you.
I spent a couple of hours of dangerously-high blood pressure today, helping resolve a mess created by someone else's steadfast refusal to indulge in reality-based thinking. Wishing is so much simpler and neater, isn't it -- until it doesn't work, at which point no amount of fast-talking BS or deprecating underlings will fix it.
Here we go over the cliff in the big bus, busy with rolls of silk and knitting needles, hoping to make a parachute before it hits bottom. Does anyone else notice the flaw in this plan?
BUILDING A 1:1 BALUN
4 years ago
5 comments:
Um, how tall is the cliff? (Snort)
Not tall enough, I fear.
How fast can you sew???
Merle
How soft is the dirt?
All you can do, when you see the bus heading for the cliff, is write a memo about applying the breaks or turning the wheel, and make sure it is somewhere they can't deny having seen it. Not sure where that "somewhere" is in your life.
At the large corps I worked for, there was usually some IBM-product/database for managing memos of that type.
Doesn't make it any more pleasant. (I never liked "I told you so.") But at least they can't hang it around your neck, when the time comes to assign blame. Which time always comes.
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