There were a number of power outages yesterday, but not enough to warrant management cutting us loose and letting us work from home. This was probably all for the best. Given my mood at the time, working from home would have meant surfing amputee porn until the Argus opened.

By 3 pm, electricity had been restored with no further interruptions. The outage had affected tens of thousands of people citywide. There was a follow-up from my company’s facilities dude that relayed the official explanation, an equipment failure of some sort.

I dismissed this of course and put the blame on a vast right-wing conspiracy. Dick Cheney, you see, was feeling extra ornery so he put in a call to his energy cronies, demanding reprisals against those San Francisco pinko liberals who hate America in general and him in particular. “Do it,” he snarled, “or I’ll come out there and shoot them all in the face personally.”

Usually, this type of fanciful thinking brings enough joy to my heart so I can get on with life and maybe even accomplish something. Not so this time. I sank into a hindsight-depravity psychosis that all but killed my productivity for the rest of the day.

“Pant pant, gurgle gurgle,” I mused. “It’s too bad the lights were never out long enough for me to crawl under some woman’s desk unnoticed. There are worse ways to spend an afternoon than watching an upskirt matinee. The feature might have even been First Blood if it was Take Your Daughter to Work Day.”

Man, I sure hope nobody at work reads this.