Thursday, April 13, 2006

Hey, Boss!

I hate you, you fucking fuck. I came back here, after a fifteen-month hiaitus, to save your sinking ship, you dorkwad. The only thing that made me hesitate was the thought of working for you again. That dimwit manager that you protected for so long is finally leaving, and yes, the opportunity to rescue a program that I love was enticing, but I seriously doubted the fact that I could work with such a condescending patronizing fuckstick as yourself. The extra hundred-and-ninety bucks a month isn't really worth putting up with you, but I'm doing it because I have this unreasonable attachment to the workplace you are so insistent upon destroying with your hairbrained ideas and your penchant for spending money we don't fucking have.

You are an asshole. The way you belittled me in that meeting tonight made me want to stand up, spit on your extra-clean glasses and muss up your perfectly-groomed hair and tear that starched suit to shreds (well, maybe just the jacket, because...ew). The only reason I didn't was because I figure when you have a bad day you probably go home and beat your wife. Yes, I held back, but I did it for her, even though we've never met, and never will, because we are women and are pieces of shite and don't deserve to be introduced to anyone let alone to each other.

I want to walk into your office on Monday and tell you how insulted I was with what you said and how you had to say it in front of everyone. I want to let you know that you were able to walk all over people for two years because that lazy bitch let you do it and she joined in whenever she could.

But I don't think I'll do that.

Know why?

Because I think your days are numbered. You are going to get the shaft soon, you moron, and I want to be there to watch your face when you find out that your shitty people skills have shortened your term. I want to be there to see your face when the very same people you call idiots tell you that you aren't needed anymore. I want to be there to see you cry.

Don't you use me to help you pose in front of people. Don't use the staff to do it, either. It's only been a week and a half, and already I want to kick you to the curb. People are begging me to help, because you are such a patronizing shithead and you treat them like children. There's only one way to help, though, and that's to go to your boss. But, I have other things I have to worry about right now, like the mess left by the incompetence that you encouraged. You, my friend, are doing just fine screwing yourself over. You don't need my help.

I just keep thinking...good things come to those who wait. Keep your cool, Frisky, keep your cool.


At 1:52 AM, Blogger Puffy said...

Here, Frisky, have some catnip.

I sure hope this new job doesn't bring back all the stress you used to have when you worked in that department. Hopefully, you can help to get rid of this guy.

Here, Frisky, have some Lush bath products.

At 3:01 PM, Blogger ~Nutz said...

Don't worry, Friskers... he'll get what's coming. Make sure to get your digs in whenever you can. Do not hold back.



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