Springtime Is Here. And I'm Not Your Fucking Mother.
Joe Lieberman is a pussy. Congress is full of rats. Tom Delay is a cocksucker. Bush is still AWOL, and fuck it. For once, I'm tired of bitching about them. I'm actually in decent mood and not ready to kill anyone or anything. Well, sorta.
This weekend Mother Nature will yet again confirm we are alive and that life still goes on despite what the polluters will try. Spring will dawn at 6:34 A.M. this Sunday. The trees will be greener, the crabgrass will tease me before I get out my herbicidal kill spray, and my dog and I will be taking long walks listening to my new iPod all the while thanking Steve Jobs for giving me an escape from the asshole men I have to work with everyday. It's not that I don't like these guys. I do. I just don't like wiping their asses every fucking day of my workday life.
These guys are nice guys. Devoted to their wives, their kids, their jobs, etc.. They don't screw around, they pay their taxes and they are quick to write a check for the right causes. It's just, well...They don't take any responsibility for the day-to-day stuff like buying toilet paper, cleaning out the kitchen fridge, buying fax cartridges after they receive 90 page faxes 12 times a week, and fixing staplers when they break the newest one bought entirely by me. The stapler was the final straw.
See, I love this stapler. It's cold gun metal grey steel with an ergonomically designed rubber grip. It has special no screw up staples and works like a champ. Well it did before someone slammed it down to staple their latest 90 page fax. And I just found it in pieces that someone left behind like their latest 20 dollar hooker in an IHOP parking lot.
I've decided that for the moment, I hate everyone in my office. I wish I were in The Night of the Comet and they were all wiped out by a terrible catastrophe. I might miss them, but right now- I think I'd jump with joy. It's impossible to bring clients in and present a semi-professional atmosphere when they all stand up front (including my husband) entertaining Deborah with latest stories about themselves. It's hard not to kill Jerry when he puts his hand on my mother-in-laws ass like he did yesterday (Jerry, she's 67 years old and richer than you and if you ever touch her ass again or make an indelicate sexual comment to her or Deborah again, I'm telling your wife after I twist off your tiny itty bitty balls).
These guys are pigs. They spill coffee all over the carpet, drop Al Pastor tacos on the ground leaving little orange stains for which I have to leave notes in their boxes telling them to please clean up their own mess. Three times in the last week the copier has been broken by a man. Guess who has enough mechanical sense to pull it a part and fix it when the copier guy can't get here, yep, me. Not the Cro-magnons who run around this office like 2 year olds on a Pixie Stik high.
I know their wives pick up after them and cater to their every need, but when it comes to the office, one would expect them to act like men, not wet diapered babies. A law office should be run with some basic niceties, say like T.P. in the shitter just in case a client needs to take a dump. I bet their wives bitch at them for leaving an empty roll in the bathroom at home, why do they think they can get away with it here?
Anyhow, I'm going on strike. Until these bums can get off their duffs and take care of some of the little things they take for granted, I'm done. I will bring no more chocolate. I will hoard my copy paper and staplers, and pens, and receipt books and not answer their phone when it's ringing off the hook 6 inches away from my hand. I'm done until they can act like responsible adults, and if it goes on too long, I'll get my own office and let them self destruct like men are prone to do when left to their own devices and in the absence of the civilizing influences of womankind.
This weekend Mother Nature will yet again confirm we are alive and that life still goes on despite what the polluters will try. Spring will dawn at 6:34 A.M. this Sunday. The trees will be greener, the crabgrass will tease me before I get out my herbicidal kill spray, and my dog and I will be taking long walks listening to my new iPod all the while thanking Steve Jobs for giving me an escape from the asshole men I have to work with everyday. It's not that I don't like these guys. I do. I just don't like wiping their asses every fucking day of my workday life.
These guys are nice guys. Devoted to their wives, their kids, their jobs, etc.. They don't screw around, they pay their taxes and they are quick to write a check for the right causes. It's just, well...They don't take any responsibility for the day-to-day stuff like buying toilet paper, cleaning out the kitchen fridge, buying fax cartridges after they receive 90 page faxes 12 times a week, and fixing staplers when they break the newest one bought entirely by me. The stapler was the final straw.
See, I love this stapler. It's cold gun metal grey steel with an ergonomically designed rubber grip. It has special no screw up staples and works like a champ. Well it did before someone slammed it down to staple their latest 90 page fax. And I just found it in pieces that someone left behind like their latest 20 dollar hooker in an IHOP parking lot.
I've decided that for the moment, I hate everyone in my office. I wish I were in The Night of the Comet and they were all wiped out by a terrible catastrophe. I might miss them, but right now- I think I'd jump with joy. It's impossible to bring clients in and present a semi-professional atmosphere when they all stand up front (including my husband) entertaining Deborah with latest stories about themselves. It's hard not to kill Jerry when he puts his hand on my mother-in-laws ass like he did yesterday (Jerry, she's 67 years old and richer than you and if you ever touch her ass again or make an indelicate sexual comment to her or Deborah again, I'm telling your wife after I twist off your tiny itty bitty balls).
These guys are pigs. They spill coffee all over the carpet, drop Al Pastor tacos on the ground leaving little orange stains for which I have to leave notes in their boxes telling them to please clean up their own mess. Three times in the last week the copier has been broken by a man. Guess who has enough mechanical sense to pull it a part and fix it when the copier guy can't get here, yep, me. Not the Cro-magnons who run around this office like 2 year olds on a Pixie Stik high.
I know their wives pick up after them and cater to their every need, but when it comes to the office, one would expect them to act like men, not wet diapered babies. A law office should be run with some basic niceties, say like T.P. in the shitter just in case a client needs to take a dump. I bet their wives bitch at them for leaving an empty roll in the bathroom at home, why do they think they can get away with it here?
Anyhow, I'm going on strike. Until these bums can get off their duffs and take care of some of the little things they take for granted, I'm done. I will bring no more chocolate. I will hoard my copy paper and staplers, and pens, and receipt books and not answer their phone when it's ringing off the hook 6 inches away from my hand. I'm done until they can act like responsible adults, and if it goes on too long, I'll get my own office and let them self destruct like men are prone to do when left to their own devices and in the absence of the civilizing influences of womankind.
posted by The Raving Badger at 2:57 PM
3 Comments:
Yeah, you're probably right. Men cannot be civilized- unless they are gay or trying to get laid.
You're just soooo cute when you're mad!
We need to put some mellower music in the IPOD. No more thrash metal for you! The key is to be single for about 34 years. After you realize no one is going to put any paper on the roll for you and you do the penguin shuffle a couple of time. You learn. Its Pavlovian.
Wonderdog
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