Welcome, Blue Collar Brothers (and the occasional unlucky soul who stumbled in here by mistake).

We’re your blue-collar brethren—one Indian, one Middle Eastern, and two crazy white guys—all equally underpaid, overworked, and with unhealthy coping mechanisms. Here to word vomit the unfiltered nonsense rattling around in our nicotine stained, caffeine jacked skulls. Whether it’s the slow death of routine, the existential dread of another Monday, or the joy of imagining our bosses getting audited by karma this is our outlet.

This blog is for those of us who fantasize about rage quitting daily, but stick around because, frankly, belittling management with basic logic is more satisfying than therapy. We know they’ve lost touch, traded their spines for promotions and became corporate parrots who can’t remember what a screwdriver is unless it’s in their mimosa.

But they can’t fire us. We’re the ones hitting quotas, fixing their screw ups, and showing up while HR prays someone else applies. So pull up a stool, crack open that lukewarm energy drink, and let’s bond over the chaos, the comedy, and the quietly suppressed scream that is working class life.