I feel like crap today. No, I feel like some crap that survived a graduation party- house hunting in a car for two days -that got ran over by a retarded Dr. in a Pathfinder- and then had to work for a few days -and would love to just pass out right now because this rainbow of pills in my stomach is making me want to puke- epic shit storm - please shoot me now-week. That kind of crap. I was just informed I look like that , too. Thanks, Captain Obvious.
|Sick. Drunk. Same thing.|
What tipped you off I wonder. The fact that my hair isn't done or that there is not one speck of sparkle on my face? Maybe it was because you keep seeing me passed out under my desk in the fetal position using something that might have once been the Staples catalogue but is now a slime ball of tears and drool as a pillow? I bet that was it. Or when you told me I looked awful today and I didn't jump out of my chair, vertical leap over the desk and round house kick your dumb ass in your giant walnut shaped head? I'm not even sure if I worked up a believable fuck off face. I feel like Death. Except I know it's not Death because even he is afraid to be near me today. And don't think that little quip about me being a short timer and looking for an excuse to go home early escaped me. It did not. Nothing like telling me I look crappy and then letting me know you think I have questionable ethics and then trying to tell me how you want some work done for you today as you skip out of the door with your little boy douche bag back pack strapped to your hunched gorilla back . Guess what, Sweet Tits?
And you are not funny. At all. I would have liked to have projectile vomited on you but I have no energy to launch my lunch further than my trash can. Maybe my lap. Stop back by Monday so I can be rude to you and enjoy it. Ass munch.