Frank, Jim, and the goat

Friday has come, and it can't be soon enough for me. Oh God. What have I gotten myself into? But this job… it pays too well… it has great opportunities… and I don't think I can quit.

No, I really can't.

Saturday: Okay, I'm posting this from home. We sacrificed a goat. A live goat. They bought it in Queens--they being Jim & Frank, two strange guys who may previously have worked for the government but now work for this media company. The one I also work for. And I REALLY can't talk about it.
They wear suits. And sunglasses. All the times. They are of equal height.
They had to make special arrangements with the supermarket on 30th Street. Usually the Supermarket only sells goat *meat,* but we needed a live goat, so I guess the supermarket talked to some people, and they had a goat waiting.

Then they took the goat on the subway--the N/W (with that great above-ground view of Queens--gotta love those elevated trains) to 42nd St., and then they transferred--I can't tell you which train they transfer with, because it could potentially reveal my company, which, for reasons which may become clear later, I *really can't do.*

Apparently it's only our division that has to sacrifice goats. Some of the other divisions get to sacrifice chickens and stuff. Not really sure why. (Mental note to self: Look into this.)

Anyway, I'm tired. I don't even know if anyone's reading this, but oy. Oy. That poor goat. And poor Jim & Frank. (Don't worry, Jim & Frank are still alive. But it was messy.)

Next post: the goat sacrifice, and what we had to do with the blood. (Shudder).