Thursday, August 10, 2006

Working my job is much like not being allowed to vomit, or worse, having to swallow the vomit after being forced to eat some kind of rancid entrails not so cleverly disguised as a food product.

The only real difference is the smell, and on certain days, even THAT is debatable.

Why am I angry?

I could go into details, but I'd really rather just find some windows to smash in. I think I can sum up my day and most of my coworkers day feelings by calling the corporate motherfuckers who sit on their pimply asses and do NOTHING of consequence a bunch of worthless jerkoffs, total wastes of skin, air and toilet paper, cock sucking bastards that even goats would turn down a free fuck with, lousy anklebiting nitwits with one testicle between all of them including the women, twat twaddlers who couldn't operate a computer if it was installed in their goddamn ass cracks, monkey butt lickers who wouldn't know how to run a company if their own moms held their hand and burped them during the whole process, cranially deficient sons of crack whores who couldn't be bothered to actually do something right or on time if their miserable excuses for lives depended on it, poop headed ninnies who obviously have no other talent than sending out useless, inane memos and wasting reams of paper on their sad fucking idea of a SOLUTION to a problem, rectal offgassing cow pie snarfers who need to be taught that in order to communicate you first have to use WORDS in the vernacular of the current age and actually SAY something that doesn't sound like a piece of utter tripe, cunt buttering banana jammers whose tiny brainmeats want to abort themselves because they somewhere along the way figure out that they serve no purpose besides the eventual dinner for whatever can ignore the stink enough to eat them, verminous cat raping spawn that even the devil claims are illegitimate who put slogans in sales flyers like "The More you spend, the more you save!" and spend more time making pretty signs then actually fixing the goddamn son of a bitch prices in the motherfucking electric boxes that they sit there jacking off in front of all fucking day long while I have to deal with some lady who can't seem to decide on a single item out of the 24 she's got in front of her and she insists upon playing the shell game with them so I have to remember what items I've rung up AND try to pay attention to her constant questions about why this thing or that thing is so expensive when I really just want to stand up on my mother fucking counter and take a large flaming baseball bat to everything in a 25 foot radius and then dump out all the volatile chemicals in the store and see just what kind of pretty colors they make when i introduce a match.

All the while as this is occuring, i naturally would be focusing my intense hatred on the loathsome protists wearing oxford shirts and their exceedingly fake smiles and even faker sentiment about how our company is a family.

Apparently, our family condones incest and is willing to ask others over to join in and have tea and cocaine afterwards.

Here, let me bend over sir so you can get started on that anal raping you've been saying will help our sales!

You know I love working for a vacuous moron like you and earning absolutely nothing while dealing with all of the shit from your oversights, and mistakes, and lack of communication, and bureacracy, and I know you have such a HARD job and you're such a decent person for taking on all these responsibilities that you ALWAYS own up to.
You slug suckling piece of fried crap. Go hug a chainsaw.