My god woke up on the wrong side of his bed.
I regret ever taking this job. Saying that it ”has to be better” than the Circus is like saying that eating different kinds of shit with a spoon makes the degree of disgustingness involved worse or better. Shit is shit. It all stinks.
A shorter commute. More sleep. It hardly seems worth it now. I was lied to. Within or without myself, I was lied to about this whole experience. And, it’s not me. I am amazed to say, that in no way is any of this my fault. This place was fucked up before I arrived and I’d dare fucking Barney the purple dinosaur to work in that office for a week not come out a carnivorous killing machine. I didn’t think any place could be as bad or worse than the Circus, but as my luck would have it, there is such a place and I am working there. I am so angry I want cry and I want to kill. Utter, utter bullshit. And there aren’t even many specifics involved with this rant. Just a lot of bullshit building up in the Playpen.
The Playpen. My new, affectionate name for the dump because no adult would work in the place. It’s all a bunch of sniveling, snot-nosed babies all whacking each other in the head with toy shovels.
I. Hate. Working. There.
So, the CG and I are in the midst of this big server install. Five new servers, two UPS’s and two battery packs. A whole new rack. A new switch. A new router. Two desktops that need to be setup for the consultants. The wireless network they needed. Electrical outlets are being installed. Shit is being unboxed. I have literally been busy almost nonstop all week. And, I am not in any way complaining about being busy.
But, this morning in the midst of all this with the CG and I crawling around this rack trying to feed wires through and get systems up, the fat fuck owner... The murderer... The disgusting blob of a human being. The pasta-slurping guinea. The man who probably hasn’t seen his dick in ten years but rest-assured thinks it’s 10 inches long comes waddling in.
As usual, he sees me and doesn’t even bother saying hello. The CG says hello to him and he’s all ”hey, how’s it going?”. Then the part that frosted my flakes. ”You guys really need to get this room cleaned up. Make it look neater.”
Hey. Fat Fuck. Do you see us working? Do you see us in the middle of setting up a whole new network of machines? Do you see us, for the past four days doing this? Do you see us done doing this yet? Do you see us sitting with our thumbs up each other’s asses, making out and jerking off? I sure as hell don’t, you fat fuck. I see two people trying to work and one fat, disgusting blimp coming in and bothering us because there are some empty boxes against the wall and the rack’s in the middle of the room.
By some grace of God, the fuck has to walk out. And, at this point the CG who is generally very passive, only warning me in generalized statements about the bullshit around the office, looks at me like what the fuck was that? So I come right out and say to him, ”Doesn’t he see us in the middle of working on something?” and the CG has one of those amazed laughs and agrees like he was thinking it but didn’t want to voice it out of pointless respect.
Later on the hot electrician returns and he’s getting the proper power sockets installed. He and the CG are walking back in the room as I am sitting at my desk (which we’ve turned to the side and made much more room in the office) and the fat, lady-killing fuck waddles back in. With me sitting right there in clear view of everyone he’s like, ”yea, once you get this room all cleaned up and can move that other equipment in here, we can move his desk out of here and sit him over where the other servers currently are.”
"Him"? So not only can this fat, mobster, woman-killing fuck, not say hello to me, he also cannot even refer to me by name when I am sitting right there.
And the fat fuck is obsessed with this vendetta of moving me out of the office. It makes no sense whatsoever because thinking that he’d even acknowledge my existence long enough to care seems absurd for his rotund character. I am almost thinking someone else said something to him about moving me out of there. And yes, I have a very particular person in mind who would have been the one who said something, seeing as said person had just been in my office that morning complaining about the mess and commenting on how I have no room in there.
It’s like the people there walk around acting and talking about ”how busy” they are, but all they spend their days doing is sticking their nose in other peoples business and talking about the people there that they don’t like.
So the fat fuck and the electrician leave and the CG and I are working on something, and he comments to me how he doesn’t understand why the fat fuck even cares where I sit, let alone to bring it up about four times this week. I then made a comment about how he talks about me when I am sitting right there like I am object and not a person, and he shook his head and almost apologized to me about the way this fat fuck treated me. You didn’t do it. It was the fat asshole with all the money that is too good to talk to the faggot.
And, with this hard-on the guy has for making sure everything is clean and perfect, I can totally, totally see how the original owner trusted him to murder that woman. Who better to do it than some clean freak that would be sure not to leave a mess or a trace.
Welcome to America, where people that kill can get away with it and actually become richer than decent, honest people.
The fat fuck is sailing his boat around from New York to Chicago starting next week. Well, I should say, his captain his doing it. He’ll just have his fat ass on the bow in a deck chair eating Cheetos and being a general fat fuck. I hope the ship sinks in Lake Superior. I hope him and all his gluttony and his wealth and his ignorant attitude end up at the bottom of the Great Lakes, just like that poor bitch he killed. Justice is served asshole.
It was just the icing on the cake today to a lot of annoyances around the office all week and these fucked up people I work with. I regret ever taking the job. I say with all honestly, I’d rather be doing two hour commutes and working with Dearest than dealing with these ignorant fucks. At least at the Circus, I knew my poison. I was the king of the midgets. At least the owner of the Circus had the ability to say hello. I didn’t give a shit about any more than that common courtesy. This fuck is unbelievable. He’d use my face to whip up a spill on the floor, but he wouldn’t say my name if he passed me in the hall.
Dumb. Fat. Fucking. Prick.
I am furious. I want someone’s head for this. It’s utter bullshit. The whole fucking experience. ”Oh it’s going to be so much better. A city job. Change. A new chance. Great opportunities.” Fucking bullshit. New opportunities to be pissed off and get more gray hair. That’s about it.
Oh wait. It’s all my fault. It’s my bad attitude. It’s because I don’t try. It’s because I am in with "the wrong crowd". It’s because I am lazy. It’s never, ever because they are fucked up!
I want restitution!
FUCK ALL!
A shorter commute. More sleep. It hardly seems worth it now. I was lied to. Within or without myself, I was lied to about this whole experience. And, it’s not me. I am amazed to say, that in no way is any of this my fault. This place was fucked up before I arrived and I’d dare fucking Barney the purple dinosaur to work in that office for a week not come out a carnivorous killing machine. I didn’t think any place could be as bad or worse than the Circus, but as my luck would have it, there is such a place and I am working there. I am so angry I want cry and I want to kill. Utter, utter bullshit. And there aren’t even many specifics involved with this rant. Just a lot of bullshit building up in the Playpen.
The Playpen. My new, affectionate name for the dump because no adult would work in the place. It’s all a bunch of sniveling, snot-nosed babies all whacking each other in the head with toy shovels.
I. Hate. Working. There.
So, the CG and I are in the midst of this big server install. Five new servers, two UPS’s and two battery packs. A whole new rack. A new switch. A new router. Two desktops that need to be setup for the consultants. The wireless network they needed. Electrical outlets are being installed. Shit is being unboxed. I have literally been busy almost nonstop all week. And, I am not in any way complaining about being busy.
But, this morning in the midst of all this with the CG and I crawling around this rack trying to feed wires through and get systems up, the fat fuck owner... The murderer... The disgusting blob of a human being. The pasta-slurping guinea. The man who probably hasn’t seen his dick in ten years but rest-assured thinks it’s 10 inches long comes waddling in.
As usual, he sees me and doesn’t even bother saying hello. The CG says hello to him and he’s all ”hey, how’s it going?”. Then the part that frosted my flakes. ”You guys really need to get this room cleaned up. Make it look neater.”
Hey. Fat Fuck. Do you see us working? Do you see us in the middle of setting up a whole new network of machines? Do you see us, for the past four days doing this? Do you see us done doing this yet? Do you see us sitting with our thumbs up each other’s asses, making out and jerking off? I sure as hell don’t, you fat fuck. I see two people trying to work and one fat, disgusting blimp coming in and bothering us because there are some empty boxes against the wall and the rack’s in the middle of the room.
By some grace of God, the fuck has to walk out. And, at this point the CG who is generally very passive, only warning me in generalized statements about the bullshit around the office, looks at me like what the fuck was that? So I come right out and say to him, ”Doesn’t he see us in the middle of working on something?” and the CG has one of those amazed laughs and agrees like he was thinking it but didn’t want to voice it out of pointless respect.
Later on the hot electrician returns and he’s getting the proper power sockets installed. He and the CG are walking back in the room as I am sitting at my desk (which we’ve turned to the side and made much more room in the office) and the fat, lady-killing fuck waddles back in. With me sitting right there in clear view of everyone he’s like, ”yea, once you get this room all cleaned up and can move that other equipment in here, we can move his desk out of here and sit him over where the other servers currently are.”
"Him"? So not only can this fat, mobster, woman-killing fuck, not say hello to me, he also cannot even refer to me by name when I am sitting right there.
And the fat fuck is obsessed with this vendetta of moving me out of the office. It makes no sense whatsoever because thinking that he’d even acknowledge my existence long enough to care seems absurd for his rotund character. I am almost thinking someone else said something to him about moving me out of there. And yes, I have a very particular person in mind who would have been the one who said something, seeing as said person had just been in my office that morning complaining about the mess and commenting on how I have no room in there.
It’s like the people there walk around acting and talking about ”how busy” they are, but all they spend their days doing is sticking their nose in other peoples business and talking about the people there that they don’t like.
So the fat fuck and the electrician leave and the CG and I are working on something, and he comments to me how he doesn’t understand why the fat fuck even cares where I sit, let alone to bring it up about four times this week. I then made a comment about how he talks about me when I am sitting right there like I am object and not a person, and he shook his head and almost apologized to me about the way this fat fuck treated me. You didn’t do it. It was the fat asshole with all the money that is too good to talk to the faggot.
And, with this hard-on the guy has for making sure everything is clean and perfect, I can totally, totally see how the original owner trusted him to murder that woman. Who better to do it than some clean freak that would be sure not to leave a mess or a trace.
Welcome to America, where people that kill can get away with it and actually become richer than decent, honest people.
The fat fuck is sailing his boat around from New York to Chicago starting next week. Well, I should say, his captain his doing it. He’ll just have his fat ass on the bow in a deck chair eating Cheetos and being a general fat fuck. I hope the ship sinks in Lake Superior. I hope him and all his gluttony and his wealth and his ignorant attitude end up at the bottom of the Great Lakes, just like that poor bitch he killed. Justice is served asshole.
It was just the icing on the cake today to a lot of annoyances around the office all week and these fucked up people I work with. I regret ever taking the job. I say with all honestly, I’d rather be doing two hour commutes and working with Dearest than dealing with these ignorant fucks. At least at the Circus, I knew my poison. I was the king of the midgets. At least the owner of the Circus had the ability to say hello. I didn’t give a shit about any more than that common courtesy. This fuck is unbelievable. He’d use my face to whip up a spill on the floor, but he wouldn’t say my name if he passed me in the hall.
Dumb. Fat. Fucking. Prick.
I am furious. I want someone’s head for this. It’s utter bullshit. The whole fucking experience. ”Oh it’s going to be so much better. A city job. Change. A new chance. Great opportunities.” Fucking bullshit. New opportunities to be pissed off and get more gray hair. That’s about it.
Oh wait. It’s all my fault. It’s my bad attitude. It’s because I don’t try. It’s because I am in with "the wrong crowd". It’s because I am lazy. It’s never, ever because they are fucked up!
I want restitution!
FUCK ALL!