I heard through the Twilight Bark at work today that my name had been put In Play for something at a top secret conclave of Good Ole Boys. A job, or some such. Now, the only thing worse than being In Play is Not Being In Play, but I've learned a few things after a few cascades off the back of the turnip truck.
Number One: if they want me to do this job, it must be opprobrious. No one wants their name attached to it, but they need someone who can fucking execute. Smells like Velociman to me. I, after all, have been cavorting with Mephistopheles of late, and those sort of midnight black arts convocations are always witnessed by someone, damn it. So I may have been smoked out in a dark woodlands gloaming as just the right guy for this thing, whatever it is.
Number Two: I have a track record for performing the distasteful, although I also have the downside of requesting a bonus outside the provenance of the original deal, so foul did the job become. I figure the usual haggling will ensue, and I'll take the brokered 50%.
Number Three: Serious expense account abuse will be involved. They always tell you No Big, but I hates a fucking paper trail. Memo to self: hold out for 75% negotiation on the overage, just in case I need to fly to a non-extraditable.
I'd better get some rest. Someone, somewhere, is going to get a screwing of their corporate bank account, and I need my beauty sleep.
Number Four: this will totally be non-Sarbanes-Oxley.