365 # 151: Mark G.

I'll say this much for you, Mark. Your whole sleazebag-in-training routine made working in a mailroom much more entertaining than it would have been otherwise. You were so over the top with it, what with the political corruption you planned to participate in, the myriad ideas you had for screwing future clients, the various ways you claimed to have degraded any number of women and planned to keep on doing, it was easy to see the whole thing as some kind of performance art. Perhaps it was my way of coping with the fact that you existed. Every now and then, I would remember that the shit coming out of your mouth was not at all bullshit and become truly worried for the future of the planet. And you were smart enough to know that it's not the guy out front who calls the shots, it's the faceless ones hanging back in the shadows. And that's where you planned to be. You had the will, the resources, and seemed to lack only a diploma. Where ever you are, I'm sure you're rich, and I'm sure you're scheming.