If it’s invented by you at work, WE own it.
My manager telegraphed this crazy corporate concept by locking onto my peepers with his practiced, point scoring bizniss glare. What he was really saying was that my body lords owned more than just my carcass – they were holding my thoughts hostage, too.
Dude pregnant paused for effect and wondered out loud if I caught his drift.
No problem pal.
See, drifts and hints I’m good at – it’s all the other unnecessary shite in business / life I have a tough time with.
But anyone claiming to own ideas I haven’t even unleashed yet scared the hail out of me and that still small voice within hollered “it’s each mind for themselves, head for the helmets!“.
By the time Company Joe clued me in, folks were already suffering from Smile Transfer Protocol which I had recently unleashed too proximate to other corporately owned entities and only the gawd of humor knew what similar threatening intellectual technologies were lurking this side of my bad blood / bozo brain barrier…
So, I couldn’t chance it.
From here on in, my cerebrum would be exempt from being picked over by bosses.
They’d have to kidnap cool concepts from someone who didn’t give a rat’s petunia about their precious little ideas.
And that someone sure ain’t me.
Thank you, friend.
Bosses aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Less you is one.
Time for church. Today’s sermon is only 3 minutes long so please stay seated. Today’s theme is: Brothers would not have been told how to move their FUCKING ARMS! Jesus Fuck!