Do you ever wonder where the damned go before they proceed to bark in hell? I know one place where they abound- pharmaceutical sales. Pharma sales is a despicable profession- one that I do out of necessity. I'm qualified for no other position in the the modern US economy. What a pity. Subterfuge, deceit, hateful networking, twisted logic, the logic of the devil, every perverse human interaction imaginable- all of these are virtues in the realm of the walking damned, in the realm of pharmaceutical sales. I'm reminded of lyrics by Alice Cooper that, thanks to my brother, I learned at a very early age. I find myself repeating them almost daily, "What did I do, to deserve such a fate...?" Watching my few honest associates pour themselves out into this mess of a job, exhausting themselves because they still believe that somehow hard work, integrity and industriousness have to pay off- makes me puke. They don't realize that in hell, those things don't work. They only cause you more grief. The virtues in hell are anti-virtues, for there good is called evil and evil good- until at last, the only people who succeed (suck-seed) there are the miserable damned and condemned. Thus it's merely a stomping ground for cattle on their way to the butcher's shop. They're well fed, fat and sassy, why shouldn't they be happy?? They, like the cattle, don't know what waits for them around the bend. May God make short work of them. The vicious dinosaurs became oil, that proved useful to real humans for a while. But even in death the cruel lizards found a way to hurt us. What will the pharmaceutical sales reps become in days hence? Fertilizer? Pig feed? Who knows? Who cares? Let the madness end. In a world where wearing nice clothes and smiling at the right people is more important than competence and ability, nuclear war is a blessing indeed. For when such people inevitably fail and hurt the market exchange, the good people are always blamed. But they're running out of good people. They're escaping in numbers larger than before. Which brings me to the end of this essay, for I have to plan my own escape. My tunnel is underway, spoonful by spoonful I'm digging my way out. When I reach the outer wall, I'm gone. | 
