Want to convert perfectly sane, rational and kind people into raving spider monkeys, swinging from the chandeliers and flinging their poo at each other? Invite them into a conference room for a meeting. I'm being, whaddayacallit, metaphysical, of course. I've been to very few meetings where poo was actually flung. I could count them on the fingers of one hand. In reality, such meeting are sheathed in a carapace of gentility and reason, which only makes the naked selfishness and cupidity underneath all the more nauseating. Studies have shown that for every hour a meeting lasts, two and a half minutes of actual work is accomplished. The only good news is that the work accomplished by your average meeting usually has a negative impact on the commonweal, so the less done the better. It's just depressing to stagger out of one knowing that yet another patch of my brain has been liquified. I'm certain that an MRI of my skull would reveal what looks like a curdled milkshake with a few dung beetle exoskeletons suspended in it. Oh, I don't know what the beetle exoskeletons represent, give me a break. I'm not a fucking scientist.