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The seventh epistle of JD Nielson. Mezzanine. Mature.
The seventh epistle of JD Nielson
by Anchises
Mezzanine universe. Mildly mature themes and content. A transformative work.
dear mitchell,
it is four fifteen in the morning. i am still awake, despite a flight from chicago that felt more like the charge of the fucking light brigade on approach into national. yes, mitchell, day one of my sojourn to our nation's capital (well, maryland, and where is mary?) has made me long for your oddly comforting presence like you wouldn't believe. or perhaps you would. nobody thinks more of you than you, after all.
you will recall my dislike for consortia, which are an abomination unto the lord. there is nothing i like better, mitchell, than having to be dependent on the incompetent and incomprehensible pissantry of others (others whom i cannot fire or unto whom i cannot commit physical violence) for (a) success, (b) money, (c) our good name, and (d) my sanity-cum-bar tab. you will also recall that i thought this particular consortium was the least worst of the bunch. i guess, at the very least, it does not include ibm.
the 'least' ends there, mitchell, my sweet, my desire, my languishing ladyfriend. exhibit a, useless mcconsultypants, llp. umc (as our lead partners shall heretofore be known) are apparently supposed to be getting us (the software partner), crappy plastic sprockets, inc., (cps, the hardware partner), and shitbrains 'r' us (sru, the field partner) organised to actually upgrade this fucking piece of shit that our "modern warfighters" are apparently trying to use in ways that were never expected. "why, nielson, i do declare, how surprisin' an' high-falootin'ly unexpected," you say. (i'm sure you don't. "no shit, sherlock" is more your style.)
umc are our gracious and welcoming hosts in their delightful (if you really, really like beige) offices here in scenic bethesda (population: bored). and if beth hesda means 'house of mercy' (shut up, mitchell, i was really really really fucking bored today), then this is the house of mercy killing, because paging dr kevorkian, these offices make me want to gouge out my cold, dark heart with a coffee stirrer. i swear to god that apart from my laptop background (currently an evocative picture of an eagle soaring above one of our glorious nation's heartland peaks, since you bitched so hard the last time i went to a meeting with it set to francois sagat getting fisted), i cannot see a single thing that is not on the chalk-ecru-bone-eggshell-tan-camel spectrum.
exhibit b, your honor (which hardly needs defending), is crappy plastic sprockets, inc., who are apparently going to be our hardware partner here. i say "apparently", because at no point did ray, who is their senior lead hardware implementation delivery executive manager (i know, seriously, mitchell, i shit you not on that one) speak between the hours of 0800 and 1745 (you will guess later what happened at 1745) other than to introduce himself. which was entirely unnecessary, on account of him wearing a "hello, my name is ray" sticker. (you have no idea how much i wanted to write "cocksucker" on mine. well, maybe you do.) i had to look back at the resume section of our consortium proposal to figure out what the fucking hell he was here for. apparently, they will be using their proprietary i-don't-give-a-fuck core units off the shelf to revolutionize the warfighting dynamic. or something.
ray also smells of fish. like, really good fried fish, like your momma makes. i couldn't figure it out either, don't worry.
exhibit c -- objection! counsel is breeding the witness -- is the fine, fine specimen of manhood that is moronic mike, who works for sru. moronic mike is fucking hot: six two, buzzed blond, probably two fifty, and his middle fingers are really, really long. it's a shame, though, that he misspelled his name. i'm pretty sure, mitchell, that it's not spelled "m-i-c-h-e-a-l". i checked, again, our consortium proposal, and it isn't. (remind me, mitchell, why i agreed to this particular consortium proposal? i realise that the framework contract requires successful participation as a consortium partner before being considered for pre-qualified bid dcma work, but i am rapidly attempting to consider whether it is, in fact, fucking worth it.)
moronic mike, however, is a damn fine cocksucker, once i invited him back to my lovely hotel and cracked out a beer from the minibar. (i did not, however, realize that the nuggets sucked as hard as they do. mike, who is from minneapolis, insisted on watching the second half of the timberwolves game. never again. never forget.) mike is, apparently, only a one beer queer, and i frankly doubt this was his first time playing away from home, because he didn't flinch when i told him he was going to fuck me, only asked if i had a condom. which, naturally, i did, on account of being a fucking boy scout (ask me about my merit badge in cocksucking sometime, mitchell). not only that, he actually asked me to reciprocate, which (as you well know) is not usually my style, but since he'd just given me the best mattress-denting fucking i've had in about six weeks, i was naturally predisposed to oblige. he is not, however, mitchell, one for discussion afterward. this is partly because the man is a moron who cannot string two sentences together without forgetting where the second was going, and partly because he is made of viagra. it took him literally three minutes to be ready to go for round two. my ass doesn't reset that quickly.
even moronic mike and his springform cock do not, however, make up for sru's idiocy. think blackwater -- excuse me, "xe" -- except without the rudimentary abilities to make gun go bang. i know, i know, they will never in fact be required to actually do anything anywhere anyhow, but that just pisses me off more, mitchell. if the dcma and their merrie merrie masters and mistresses of mirth and merriment had even fucking read the specification they were sending out, they would never have checked the box requiring level two field partner involvement. they just wouldn't. (the real fucker about working with sru, mitchell, is that the motherfuckers make me realize why blackwater got its no-bid contracts.)
your dramatis personae outlined, mitchell, allow me to relate a single example of the idiocy involved here.
sherry is from umc. you know this, i know this, and i bet even your cousin bouillabaisse knows this (you do have a cousin bouillabaisse, right?) because sherry has identified herself as 'sherry from umc' on every single conference call we've had. including those in which she was the only umc representative. also including those in which she was the sole female and therefore reasonably distinguishable in tone alone.
sherry from umc's entire role in this project is based on the fact that she used to work for the contractor who must not be named on this exact project. (the clue, mitchell, should have been in the fact that tcwmnbn is no longer involved on the project they created.) you will therefore forgive me for assuming that sherry from umc might have known something about the requirements and capabilities of this particular piece of our nation's materiel. forgive, mitchell, my love, but do not forget.
you will recall requirements capture 4.1 of three weeks ago, which specifically requested information about the capacity of the void into which our exciting magical unicorn shinybox will be riveted. you will also recall that bernice emailed our section to sherry from umc and followed it up with a telephone call to confirm. (you will recall this because bernice, unusually, emailed us afterwards to enquire as to whether sherry from umc had, and i quote, 'fallen off the damn short bus in a hairdo and a pantsuit'.) you will also recall sherry from umc's presence on our conference calls since then, during which she apparently assumed we were meeting in bethesda, ohio (pop. 1413 and part of the historic wheeling, west virginia metropolitan statistical area), not bethesda, maryland (pop. 55,287 and number one in the contest of our great nation's "top ten hottest-guy cities" according to total beauty magazine). you will also recall a complete lack of objection to our proposed methodology from any quarter, including but not limited to (side effects may include drowsiness, dry mouth and anal leakage) sherry from umc.
fast forward (do the kids still do that, mitchell, with their ipods and their iphones and their imacs and whatnot?) to today, where fishy ray (rip, steve irwin) and colleagues have created a demonstration mockup of the void and the magical unicorn shinybox. which naturally does not fit through the hatch into the void. not backward, not forward, and there was a man dismay'd (namely, moi), and all the fucking soldiers knew some one had blunder'd. (hey, nice cardigan, sherry from umc)
apparently, sherry from umc had calculated the volume of the void without also mentioning to anybody (and certainly not fishy ray) that the hatch's hinge mechanism retracts part of the cover into the void. which now means that the magical shinybox is about as useful as a cock in a biker dyke bar. fishy ray was desperately trying not to call sherry from umc a fucking idiot. it was impressive to watch. i think his exact words were 'sub-optimal communication modality'.
good news, though, mitchell! it will only require another fifteen days to rework the layout of the hardware, and since somebody was smart enough to soft-code the software to the various modules, i only have a day and a half of work to do here before i can go hit the bars. and by "hit the bars", mitchell, i think you know what i mean.
and now, mitchell, my ass having recovered from being fucked so hard that i felt like saturn, i think i shall go half a league, half a league, half a league onwards to bed. or possibly to get a start on module k.
i remain, as ever,
y'r ob'd't (and jetlagg'd) s'rv't,
-jdn
by Anchises
Mezzanine universe. Mildly mature themes and content. A transformative work.
dear mitchell,
it is four fifteen in the morning. i am still awake, despite a flight from chicago that felt more like the charge of the fucking light brigade on approach into national. yes, mitchell, day one of my sojourn to our nation's capital (well, maryland, and where is mary?) has made me long for your oddly comforting presence like you wouldn't believe. or perhaps you would. nobody thinks more of you than you, after all.
you will recall my dislike for consortia, which are an abomination unto the lord. there is nothing i like better, mitchell, than having to be dependent on the incompetent and incomprehensible pissantry of others (others whom i cannot fire or unto whom i cannot commit physical violence) for (a) success, (b) money, (c) our good name, and (d) my sanity-cum-bar tab. you will also recall that i thought this particular consortium was the least worst of the bunch. i guess, at the very least, it does not include ibm.
the 'least' ends there, mitchell, my sweet, my desire, my languishing ladyfriend. exhibit a, useless mcconsultypants, llp. umc (as our lead partners shall heretofore be known) are apparently supposed to be getting us (the software partner), crappy plastic sprockets, inc., (cps, the hardware partner), and shitbrains 'r' us (sru, the field partner) organised to actually upgrade this fucking piece of shit that our "modern warfighters" are apparently trying to use in ways that were never expected. "why, nielson, i do declare, how surprisin' an' high-falootin'ly unexpected," you say. (i'm sure you don't. "no shit, sherlock" is more your style.)
umc are our gracious and welcoming hosts in their delightful (if you really, really like beige) offices here in scenic bethesda (population: bored). and if beth hesda means 'house of mercy' (shut up, mitchell, i was really really really fucking bored today), then this is the house of mercy killing, because paging dr kevorkian, these offices make me want to gouge out my cold, dark heart with a coffee stirrer. i swear to god that apart from my laptop background (currently an evocative picture of an eagle soaring above one of our glorious nation's heartland peaks, since you bitched so hard the last time i went to a meeting with it set to francois sagat getting fisted), i cannot see a single thing that is not on the chalk-ecru-bone-eggshell-tan-camel spectrum.
exhibit b, your honor (which hardly needs defending), is crappy plastic sprockets, inc., who are apparently going to be our hardware partner here. i say "apparently", because at no point did ray, who is their senior lead hardware implementation delivery executive manager (i know, seriously, mitchell, i shit you not on that one) speak between the hours of 0800 and 1745 (you will guess later what happened at 1745) other than to introduce himself. which was entirely unnecessary, on account of him wearing a "hello, my name is ray" sticker. (you have no idea how much i wanted to write "cocksucker" on mine. well, maybe you do.) i had to look back at the resume section of our consortium proposal to figure out what the fucking hell he was here for. apparently, they will be using their proprietary i-don't-give-a-fuck core units off the shelf to revolutionize the warfighting dynamic. or something.
ray also smells of fish. like, really good fried fish, like your momma makes. i couldn't figure it out either, don't worry.
exhibit c -- objection! counsel is breeding the witness -- is the fine, fine specimen of manhood that is moronic mike, who works for sru. moronic mike is fucking hot: six two, buzzed blond, probably two fifty, and his middle fingers are really, really long. it's a shame, though, that he misspelled his name. i'm pretty sure, mitchell, that it's not spelled "m-i-c-h-e-a-l". i checked, again, our consortium proposal, and it isn't. (remind me, mitchell, why i agreed to this particular consortium proposal? i realise that the framework contract requires successful participation as a consortium partner before being considered for pre-qualified bid dcma work, but i am rapidly attempting to consider whether it is, in fact, fucking worth it.)
moronic mike, however, is a damn fine cocksucker, once i invited him back to my lovely hotel and cracked out a beer from the minibar. (i did not, however, realize that the nuggets sucked as hard as they do. mike, who is from minneapolis, insisted on watching the second half of the timberwolves game. never again. never forget.) mike is, apparently, only a one beer queer, and i frankly doubt this was his first time playing away from home, because he didn't flinch when i told him he was going to fuck me, only asked if i had a condom. which, naturally, i did, on account of being a fucking boy scout (ask me about my merit badge in cocksucking sometime, mitchell). not only that, he actually asked me to reciprocate, which (as you well know) is not usually my style, but since he'd just given me the best mattress-denting fucking i've had in about six weeks, i was naturally predisposed to oblige. he is not, however, mitchell, one for discussion afterward. this is partly because the man is a moron who cannot string two sentences together without forgetting where the second was going, and partly because he is made of viagra. it took him literally three minutes to be ready to go for round two. my ass doesn't reset that quickly.
even moronic mike and his springform cock do not, however, make up for sru's idiocy. think blackwater -- excuse me, "xe" -- except without the rudimentary abilities to make gun go bang. i know, i know, they will never in fact be required to actually do anything anywhere anyhow, but that just pisses me off more, mitchell. if the dcma and their merrie merrie masters and mistresses of mirth and merriment had even fucking read the specification they were sending out, they would never have checked the box requiring level two field partner involvement. they just wouldn't. (the real fucker about working with sru, mitchell, is that the motherfuckers make me realize why blackwater got its no-bid contracts.)
your dramatis personae outlined, mitchell, allow me to relate a single example of the idiocy involved here.
sherry is from umc. you know this, i know this, and i bet even your cousin bouillabaisse knows this (you do have a cousin bouillabaisse, right?) because sherry has identified herself as 'sherry from umc' on every single conference call we've had. including those in which she was the only umc representative. also including those in which she was the sole female and therefore reasonably distinguishable in tone alone.
sherry from umc's entire role in this project is based on the fact that she used to work for the contractor who must not be named on this exact project. (the clue, mitchell, should have been in the fact that tcwmnbn is no longer involved on the project they created.) you will therefore forgive me for assuming that sherry from umc might have known something about the requirements and capabilities of this particular piece of our nation's materiel. forgive, mitchell, my love, but do not forget.
you will recall requirements capture 4.1 of three weeks ago, which specifically requested information about the capacity of the void into which our exciting magical unicorn shinybox will be riveted. you will also recall that bernice emailed our section to sherry from umc and followed it up with a telephone call to confirm. (you will recall this because bernice, unusually, emailed us afterwards to enquire as to whether sherry from umc had, and i quote, 'fallen off the damn short bus in a hairdo and a pantsuit'.) you will also recall sherry from umc's presence on our conference calls since then, during which she apparently assumed we were meeting in bethesda, ohio (pop. 1413 and part of the historic wheeling, west virginia metropolitan statistical area), not bethesda, maryland (pop. 55,287 and number one in the contest of our great nation's "top ten hottest-guy cities" according to total beauty magazine). you will also recall a complete lack of objection to our proposed methodology from any quarter, including but not limited to (side effects may include drowsiness, dry mouth and anal leakage) sherry from umc.
fast forward (do the kids still do that, mitchell, with their ipods and their iphones and their imacs and whatnot?) to today, where fishy ray (rip, steve irwin) and colleagues have created a demonstration mockup of the void and the magical unicorn shinybox. which naturally does not fit through the hatch into the void. not backward, not forward, and there was a man dismay'd (namely, moi), and all the fucking soldiers knew some one had blunder'd. (hey, nice cardigan, sherry from umc)
apparently, sherry from umc had calculated the volume of the void without also mentioning to anybody (and certainly not fishy ray) that the hatch's hinge mechanism retracts part of the cover into the void. which now means that the magical shinybox is about as useful as a cock in a biker dyke bar. fishy ray was desperately trying not to call sherry from umc a fucking idiot. it was impressive to watch. i think his exact words were 'sub-optimal communication modality'.
good news, though, mitchell! it will only require another fifteen days to rework the layout of the hardware, and since somebody was smart enough to soft-code the software to the various modules, i only have a day and a half of work to do here before i can go hit the bars. and by "hit the bars", mitchell, i think you know what i mean.
and now, mitchell, my ass having recovered from being fucked so hard that i felt like saturn, i think i shall go half a league, half a league, half a league onwards to bed. or possibly to get a start on module k.
i remain, as ever,
y'r ob'd't (and jetlagg'd) s'rv't,
-jdn
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JD's epistles never fail to make me laugh. It is greatly appreciated.
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oh - more PLEASE.
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See anchises, you HAVE to keep going - won't you think of the numpties, idiots, morons and nuff-nuffs of Melbourne?
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Also I love these epistles. Please do keep writing them forever. :D