Imagine... the cement deck off the mansion's south side is appointed with luxurious fountains and greenery. Tables topped with marble, draped in white linens and umbrella'd in shade dot the landscape. Servants dressed in silk blouses, short skirts and white gloves serve finger food and drinks. Socialites schooled in etiquette and branded in fashion politely converse on polite topics. A dashing young man approaches, intent on spreading good will and harmony says, "how do you do? Why, I'd like you to meet my numbers."
NOT!
You don't have to imagine - bands and bands of frustrated little men wearing gray suites, starched white shirts and boring ties bunch close together while jumping up and down while clutching their blackberries while talking to their minions on pieces of plastic jammed in their ears while jumping up and down, while jumping up and down -- in a mad frenzy while all looking straight ahead while worshiping the gods of their corporation while now yelling into their plastic ear pieces at their subordinates in a frenzied desperate pleading demanding pissing themselves voice, "meet my numbers! meet my numbers - before the end of the month, before the end of the quarter!"
NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dear Old People Who Run the World...............,"We want to be doing great stuff that matters." Umair Haque
Me too Umair, even though I'm kind of an old people. Rock on brother.
I think I'm with Jimi on this one:
White collared conservative flashing down the street,
Pointing their plastic finger at me.They're hoping soon my kind will drop and die,
But I'm gonna wave my freak flag high, high...
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