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Add Sane Magazine to your My Netscape.

Do you know how many hours it takes to actually kill Time?
Quite a few, and you must be willing to endure hours and hours of solitaire (with actual cards or on a computer for you miscreants with the computers out there). And you must be incredibly crap at it.
Or you must have a suitably active imagination; active in that special way of avoiding activity, or certain types of activity, at any rate, that can get away without being noticed as having been active, and one that doesn't mind sitting around for long periods of Time. One that would be ideal for taking on a shopping trip, content to sit there and stare at the moulding on the shoppe windows whilst the person who initially dragged it out to shop titters from store to store, occasionally wobbles from store to store, or within a store, even, teeters under the weight of potential purchases, which wind up not being so, dropped on a rack, picked up again under the guise of putting them back in their proper place, taken dangerously close to the cash register, taken dangerously close with a credit card brandished in the ugliest possible way, pausing, an item or two dropping to the floor, teetering back to the rack where a good portion of the formerly homeward-bound goods remain piled as they've since forgotten where the items actually came from, stacking the goods in a neat-ish pile on the rack, beginning to todder away to the next shoppe, or another shoppe that's already been visited, only to leap back as the pile begins to succumb to it's own disorder and gravity, catching a few of the heavier items, then scooping the entire pile (minus a few slippery items), and landing it on the cash register in front of a surprised and delighted sales clerk chewing a ridiculous amount of gum, the shadows around the shoppes growing long and foreboding. (If you can manage to do this sort of thing at work, you'd be fantastically useful around most new media offices.)

One you've done it, once you've killed it, you'd be surprised at how delightful everyone is to you (probably because you look horrible, as I've said, it's quite an ordeal). They coddle you, take care of you, bring you a blanket if you look remotely cold, or even if you look like you're thinking about somewhere cold. They cut your food up into incredibly small pieces for you and, in some cases, will pre-chew your food for you (though I gave the last guy that tried that a very strange look. And the rest of my food.). Whether this is a respect thing, a pity thing, a fear thing, or just one of those things, I have no idea.
All lost in the mists of Timelessnessless. Erm.

disclaimer:
Favourite sayings: "If you've got any hamsters, now's the time to throw them."