Fuck This Place

How creepy is this place I work at? Appalling­ly. My boss is cut from the greasy used car sale­man in a pr0n video mold. He also has teeth that are very British. Runofthemill ques­tions become snide and insin­u­at­ing when he asks them. I feel soiled when I am around him. When he oberves my work his creepi­ness caus­es me to fuck it up, and then he makes non­com­mi­tal but some­how know­ing remarks. When he asks a ques­tion, and I answer he checks for him­self because appar­ent­ly he assumes I am an idiot. How creepy is he? So creepy that just now when I retrieved my lunch from the refrig­er­a­tor, I won­dered if he put some­thing in my Gatorade when the cap came off too eas­i­ly. THAT creepy. And I haven’t even men­tioned how his fawn­ing greed makes the dupli­ca­tor’s job even more oner­ous. I won’t get into that lest I seize and froth. fuck this place.

2 thoughts on “Fuck This Place”

  1. boy it did take long for some­body to get tired of a rou­tine job. Got the Christ­mas card…thanks You make me look bad as I haven’t even start­ed. Any­who in the words of the imor­tal Homer Simp­son: “If you don’t like your job, you don’t srike. You just go in and do it half assed. That’s the Amer­i­can way.”

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