As I'm sure as most of y'all know by now, I no longer have my job because of this website. Management had monitored my computer for over a month, tracked what sites I visited and blog posts I wrote and tried to place me between a rock and a hard place over things said on this personal site about people at work (even when said people and said work was never mentioned explicitly).

I was dooced…sorta.

The blow-by-blow happened so fast that I blinked and was out of a job. Awesome in a surrealistic sort of way. I was trying to finish up some contract issues before the end of the day so I could leave work at a respectable hour when I got a phone call. It was one of my customers that needed some contact information changed. That's when I saw the terrible twosome Skeletor and Wednesday Addams walking towards my cube. The feeling that I was in some deep shit set in quickly. Normally when they're about to can someone, it's either at the beginning or the end of their shift. I wish it had been at the beginning so I could've swung by Chick-fil-a for some breakfast, but alas…can't win 'em all. Just as I was finishing up the call Skeletor said, "When Karsh gets off the phone, can you tell him to come to Snake Mountain?"

I watched as the two made their bee-dance around the cubes, both glancing over to see when I would get off the phone. I purposely prolonged the conversation to make sure the customer's issue was thoroughly resolved and ended the call. I took a deep breath and made my way towards the lair.

As I closed the door and sat down, I already knew what Skeletor was going to say. It's not that I necessarily knew I was in the wrong at that point, but I know I hadn't done anything extraordinarily spectacular recently to warrant two-on-one kudos. This is what made the retorts so easy.

Skeletor spoke at length about her great disappointment in me while Wednesday Addams crossed her arms and nodded for effect. "And I don't even know what this 'black gay blogger' thing is. I mean what is that?" I stifled my laugh as best I could. Columns of numbers and posts from my site were photocopied, stapled and collated as she emphasized "we have the proof". I almost felt like I was Law and Order or something, getting busted for using the taxpayer's hard-earned money on a new BMW X5 and a summer home in the Hamptons. As she spoke and the other manager nodded, I slouched down in my seat, giving Skeletor a look which said "I can see your point, but I still think you're full of shit."

"I'm just so disappointed because you're a tremendous worker and a real asset to the department…we're going to have to take you off the GDAM program. We'll just say that because of the number of accounts in the region, we decided to consolidate our agents from three to two."

Lying ass. No secret though, I wanted off the g'damn program when it cost me that sweet tech position about a month back. I wanted to say "I have plenty of talent and vision…I just don't give a damn", but it only came out as muffled cough. To add insult to injury, she read off a signed "final written warning" sheet everything she just said.

Jesus Christ, now this was just getting ridiculous. I had to say something.

"If this is the final written warning, then how come I never received a warning before, written or otherwise?"

"You have the company handbook, right?"

"Yes."

"That's the first warning."

Of course. She tells me I have a choice, a bit of a misnomer considering that I was only given one option if I stayed: get pulled off the GDAM program, get demoted two ranks, take a pay cut, become ineligible for bonuses, incentives, promotions and/or transfers, and take down the site.

Hindsight is something else; with all the change which went on at the company, new technologies worked by even newer employees, a managerial structure which changes more than Fox's prime-time lineup…I thought that the fact I was not only able to perform my job well enough to be company-recognized and promoted, but also churned out excellent blog posts without breaking a sweat damn admirable. But then I thought about the inverse; how I always had to sober myself for at least 30 minutes before my shift just so I could adequately digest the nonsensical bullshit and mindless e-mail forwards and silly office gossip. How the company-wide peer pressure made work seem less like a professional venue and more like high school. Not to mention the idiotic catch phrases. Three-letter acronyms every-fucking-where. And fantasy football. Crack-iced birthday cakes. The god-awful catering from the Killaroach Café downstairs. The goddamn Smoker's Union and all the promotions because of it. The pride-obliterating gimme-fives (seriously…I hadn't consciously given five since 1988, and even then, it was before saying "up high, down low, too slow). Hearing about Home Depot, people's itinerant mutts, folks getting married. Baby showers. Team meetings. The sight of people's heads popping out of the half-cubes like a Whack-a-Mole! game when leftover food from this morning's corporate meeting arrives in the kitchenette picked over, breathed on, and sometimes covered in mold. The pungent funk of tobacco.

These were a few of my most-hated things.

You know how in cartoons the protagonist has the little angel and the devil sitting on their shoulders? The angel was me at seven years old. Fresh-faced and talented, all he wanted to do was write and be free. The devil was me in college with my 7″ 'fro, fistpick jutting out like a wannabe ?uestlove and wearing a red shirt that says "I'm having a Nat Turner kinda day." The angel says, "You need the money. How else will you pay your rent?" The devil says, "Man, fuck that shit. Fuckin' crackas wanna call you out on some shit? Tell 'em 'bout all the other people you know at work that blog on the company dime. Give them the URLs. If you go down, take everyone with you."

Hey, I was in college. Cut me some slack, 'mmkay?

The angel told me I didn't have a plan. He told me to wait.

The devil told me I was never in their plan. He said I was expendable.

Skeletor broke the imaginary dialogue with, "Do you have anything you wish to say? An apology?"

Apology? I gave her a confused look and turned towards Wednesday Addams, who nodded in agreement.

"An apology…for what? This is my personal site. I apologize for doing it at work; that was sloppy on my part."

"And?"

"And…that's it."

I said the it in a higher tone than the rest of the sentence. This is what some writers would call a "defining moment in a character's development". The space between what I had just said and what would come next felt like an eternity. Some writers would call that "cliché", but seriously…I had time to not only plan on what was going to come out of my mouth next, but decide what I'd have for dinner, and what I would be doing over the weekend. I could either take my punishment like a bitch and find myself living the plot to Office Space day after day, or I could take my life back. I could surrender the shackles of corporate design and pursue my dream. My passion. I could be free as a bird.

Some writers would call that bullshit.

"…I resign."

"Are you sure? You sure you don't want to think about this…"

I laughed. "Dead."

Skeletor went on about how I would have to surrender my badge, how my computer would have to be shut down and that I would still receive my last two direct deposits (salary and annual bonus). I walked out of Snake Mountain feeling 200 feet tall.

"Do you need a box or a bag for your desk?" Wednesday Addams asked.

I scoffed at her. "Oh no. Just let me get my coat, hat and scarf, and I will be on my merry way." My voice was shaky, and could have been misconstrued as me being sad over the information they gathered and my eventual decision. Oh no…my voice was shaky from excitement because I wanted to scream! I wanted to scream to the top of my lungs and pump my fist in jubilation. I wanted to kiss the fine ass Jersey boy who sits yards from me and then snatch the bad wig off of Sheneneh's ghetto head. This. shit. felt. good.

The management duo and I went down to the second floor and they told me I should receive information concerning my insurance in 7-10 days. I inquired about the money owed me again, this time with my trusty phone recording this moment for posterity (or Exhibit A, whichever stands up in court the best). We exited out the lobby's huge glass doors, and as I stood in the foyer looking out into the night, I felt a real sense of empowerment. No more bitching and moaning about this job…I was out. I handed my badge to Skeletor, threw my scarf around my neck (hitting someone in the process, oops!), and stepped out in the crisp January air.

Three hours later, over a forty ounce and some pizza, I thought about my first few days at the company. The shoddy "training". The scores of employees who were just as dissatisfied as I was, if not more, but afraid to do anything about it. The talks of dreams deferred as they sigh about their settling into a corporate America call center, probably one of the last not outsourced to India. On my first day, someone told me that working there was more than a job, it was a career.

I thought I wanted a career there. Turns out I just wanted paychecks.