Smartassery

There are so many things you don’t know about me and my life outside of this hypocritical soul-snuffing job that I’ve decided to put a stop to your disparate notion that we are friends and give you the inside scoop:

1) The glass that separates your office from my desk is not soundproof. I hear you call your therapist, cut your nails, and discuss your “special” warts with the doctor. I’d really prefer to do without the gross medical details and the marriage counseling sessions. For all that is good and sacred, please stop.

2) I fantasize a lot at work about various things, good, bad and ugly. As of late, my favorite fantasy is about pushing you out the roof since we work in a large scale model of a fishtank and have no windows, just glass panels.

3) Nobody likes you. NOBODY. Not even your wife. Furthermore, you are the serpentine offspring of the devil so that automatically gives you BAD KARMA. It’s no coincidence that only your flights get cancelled, your food has foreign objects in it, and milk rots as you pour it. Also to invoke your name when calling a favor usually has a chilling and petrifying effect. I’m not doing it anymore, lest people start not liking me because of my association with you.

4) I’ve been looking for another job ever since I hit the one week mark here. Notice how my desk is barren of personal parafernalia. This is a deliberate move designed to shorten my packing time when I leave. When I go on interviews, people commiserate with me about you, because it turns out, your loathsome management style and oligarchic leadership are infamous. I don’t even have to give them a reason why I want to leave. They already KNOW.

5) I’ve noticed you sashaying around the office with your arms bent just like so in that feminine way. You’re gay. You flirt with the delivery guys! My gay friends say you’re gay. That’s right,  gay as the day is long (and around here, it feels like the day is only about 15 minutes shy of eternity so that’s alotta gay). Furthermore, when you are flirting over the phone please remember #1 on my list here – the glass partition is not soundproof. Gross.

6) I can’t tell you how bloody irritating it is that you always type your emails in lower case. Nobody, especially you who spends every waking moment surfing Amazon, is that busy to make one nimious extra keystroke.

7) On the same note. Please, quit using the dorky Smiley Face, Wink Face, Sad Face, or Crying Face characters in your emails. I am going to walk over to your office and Kick You In The Face if you persist on using that boundless list of emoticons. Knock that shit off. We’re grown adults. It’s embarrassing. Really.    

In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t give three squirrels about your weekend. Hence, why I don’t ask you about them. Nonetheless, every Monday you launch into a litany of things you’ve done that I guess you think make you look young, hip and cool. Listen, you demonic weasel, you are 59 years old. Scoring tickets to the 50 Cent concert is not cool. For you anyway. And it is not Fifty Cents but Fittycent. Retard.

9) When you tell me to do “A” do NOT wait until I’m finished to tell me that I should have done “B” instead. It doesn’t make you seem more powerful or intelligent to undermine me like that, as a matter of fact, it makes you come off as the exact opposite. You are a weak and ineffective abortion and you will never change.

10) I don’t know what your vacuous job is supposed to be, except for surfing the Internet and devising torturous and useless projects for me to do. Your title should be Incompetent Emasculator of Venture Capital. 

11) I do not care about your special hunting dog imported from Chechnya. I don’t know (or want to know) what kind of malfunction your wife and you have that now compels you to treat this animal as if it were your soul mate. I like animals just the same as everyone else, but you literally have 82 pictures of this thing in our office. I don’t want to waste one more second of my life feigning interest in your latest pictures of “baby.” It’s a dog, a full grown adult dog. He doesn’t grow or change or even go to exciting places – he’s dull…like you. Rule of thumb: unless you shave him and dye him bright pink, do not even approach my desk about it. M’kay?

12) I’m sure one of these days I’m going to get my half-box of Splenda and “bitch” mug and just walk out of this office and never come back. And you of course will have no idea why – so I’ll tell you again. I hate you. I can’t wait.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 4th, 2006 at 1:59 am and is filed under Vapid Capital. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.