Y.P.R.: Milk Comes Out of Our Noses When We Laugh.

LITERARY MISDIRECTION

G.W.'s FRUIT SALAD | LETTERS

BIRTHDAY CARDS TO CELEBRITIES

SUBMIT | KINDRED SPIRITS

X L

BY
NICK JEZARIAN

Essentially, I get paid to play with digital blocks and build castles out of numbers, sorted and formatted and lumped into columns. I’m a wizard of digital carpentry. People, who I vaguely like, hand me numbers in the morning and I work them into a frenzy throughout the day. Follow me, my little numerical chums, I will lead you to the land of organization, we will build a kingdom of user-friendly, easy-to-read charts that will advance the world! But first, we must get these media buys allocated to the proper brands. We will advance the message of a mega-corporation, the producer of hundreds of fine brands of shampoos and cookies and other shit. We will be a cog in the wheel that helps the people know that our message is true. Buy our shit, we will say, we have claims, claims of taste and superiority.
They hand me files, these people I know nothing about other than that the same force of will pays us money. Files documenting inventories of space -- air time that exists on television, my magic box that has far less utility than its overachieving, gifted younger brother, the computer monitor. I will type these numbers into my world. In my hands, they could be manipulated so easily but I’m too strong for that. I will not yield to temptation. No. I will tell these units where to go, I will assign numbers to brands and costs to these units. I will lead them from mere paper across a void into the world of e-things like Moses leading his people across the desert. In my world, thy will be safer, immune to coffee spills and unorganized fools. Behold my power, I will not lose you.
Get here you bastard little 9, I’ll drag your ass and drop it in a column like nothing. I said, two decimal places showing, you hooligan. Ahahahaha. Percentages, formulas, if-then statements. You wanna fuck with me? I said, do you wanna fuck with me? I know pivot tables motherfucker. WHAT?
I’ll tattoo “.xls” on your ass, then you’ll understand this is all for a greater good. Please, God, tell me why you gave me this gift?

MORE GUFF