2. How many people can work at an establishment with their heads up their own ass? I mean really. How do they get shit done? Oh, ya. They give it to me to do.
3. Farts. Why doesn't this Mt. Dew have booze included?
4. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to interrupt me while I'm knee deep in bullshit, so that you can add another shovel to the pile. I apologize.
5. You mean that the four times I've tried to explain my problem to you isn't sufficient for you to comprehend? Oh. Maybe I should get out the etch-a-sketch. That might help.
6. Dear Printer: If you F*CKING break down one more time in the next 2 minutes, I will personally go Office Space on your ass. Sincerely, F*cking Pissed Off Printer Operator.
7. Oh really. Now you don't want to print anything at all?!?! Thank you. Thank you for making this shittastic day that much better.
8. Seriously. Where is the booze? Mama needs a drunkfest. STAT.
9. Thank you Baby Jesus & Mother F*cking Mary, for the nice Parts Room woman who gave me a jumbo sized Ho-Ho yesterday, and that I just now found stashed in the depths of my food drawer. I love you long time. (Pretty sure you're not supposed to cuss when talking about 'the virgin' [meaning the Mary part, not the Parts Room woman]. Oh well. I'm sure I've already got a reserved seat next to Satan's shitter by now.)
10. Do you hear that? That ringing sound? Do you? It's the liquor store calling. They've reserved a keg just for me. Excuse me while I get slap happy shitballs wasted. (Or it could be the psych ward calling. You never know.)
Cheers. This shitstorm is over.