Posted tagged ‘Work’

You’re the Worst Type of Asshole

August 29, 2009

Piss on the toilet seat…not an uncommon occurrence as far as mens rooms go. But when you take your sorry, limp-dicked ass to a stall when there are urinals to choose from, don’t be a dick and lift the seat like your whore of a mother [should have] taught you! On top of that, you don’t have the forethought to just piss on top of the seat if you couldn’t hold it. Nor did you have the common fucking courtesy to wipe it the hell off. Instead you pissed under and around the seat, on the floor, and all over the top and side of the damn bowl…fucking everywhere except the fucking industrial sized mixing bowl filled with water under your minuscule baby dick.

Did your BlackBerry start vibrating and throw off your concentration? Did you forget to unzip your pants? Even if that was the case, it’s still a shitty excuse in a pissy situation. Maybe I’m in a rush to send pictures of my shit to a feces fetish forum or take a nap on the shitter or check my favorite gossip blogs when I go to the porcelain throne. What I’m not in a fucking rush to do is play a rousing game of ‘clean your trifling ass coworker’s piss off of the entire toilet in the King stall [handicapped stalls because they’re huge]’. How about you save me some me the blood pressure points and yourself the ass whoopin you got comin if I ever find out who you are [no homo]!



August 20, 2009

Today…my old manager told me he’s “having some interesting challenges” at his new client. All the while he had a grin on his face. I also noticed he stopped making eye contact. Instead, he was staring over my shoulder at the firm backsides of a few of my female counterparts as they walked away. I couldn’t tell if he thought I wouldn’t notice he had a huge eye boner, if he was thinking about the correlation or if he was genuinely mesmerized by the 20-something year old saddles in his sights. Either way, it got me wondering if I could decode what the hell my bosses really mean when they say certain things. Like, was he unintentionally implying that he’s fucking one of our clients because people usually aren’t aroused when they talk about challenges? I’ve never gotten wood from driving on the highway in a snowstorm. Or are there really work-related challenges associated with his project? Over the past few hours I’ve decoded 5 office messages:

1) “We’ll be basing compensation on our position in this tough economy.” = “Your raise is nowhere near as important as my new mistress’ penthouse. So, your raise is going to be enough to buy an extra gallon of gas each month, and if you don’t like it, so the fuck what! Your severance package will be being permitted to leave the building without a tazer on your nuts.

2) “Let’s table this issue.” = “Bitch! Don’t you ever embarrass me in a meeting by proving me wrong. Guess who jumped to the top of the head count reduction list.”

3)”That’s low-hanging fruit that we can take care of with no problem.” = “This is an easy task that I believe is below me. I’ll delegate it to someone under me I hate more than VD and then micro-manage the fuck out of it.”

4)”He was overqualified for this position. We’d have been doing him a disservice.” = “He’d have had all of our jobs inside of a year.”

5)”We’re going to do the right thing for our people.” = “We’re going to bombard you with one-way communication until you’re satisfied. All the while, the data we’re sending you is ‘massaged [with a happy ending for the top executives]’, and the messaging is sugar-coated double-speak that passes for straight talk.”

Old People & Technolgy

July 1, 2009


Only the strong survive.  So, put down the mouse and step the fuck back, or learn how to use that F1 key, punk bitch!  I don’t have all day to send something to you for review, get it back with your “updates” [very un-fucking-helpful changes], and then correct all the fuck ups you contributed to my formatting.  Nice work, tiny Tim, you have now, at the very least, doubled the time it takes to review a document.  How about you stick to writing on paper and leave typing to the pros.  I know we’ve had keyboards for a while now, but you’re worse than a caveman trying to make fire in a hurricane. 


I’d be more sympathetic if you weren’t such a cocky jerk about it, claiming you’ll take care of it.  I’d have better luck putting my laptop in a dishwasher because you’re more illiterate than Helen Keller before the Miracle Worker showed up.  I bet you wouldn’t be such a fucking know-it-all if we were talking about skydiving safety or how to properly masturbate with a flaming glove on.  I bet you’d listen to my instructions like I was telling the secret of how to get into Megan Fox’s panties without being handsome or rich.  If that’s not up your alley, or you’re into penis and can’t think of a substitute of the opposite sex, then you’re beyond hopeless.  And that leaves us where we began…you’re a douche that refuses to adapt.  Take your old ass to the shuffleboard court before I double-click you up and down the nearest  flight of stairs.

Weekday Forced Networking

June 10, 2009

Weekend Forced NetworkingWhat do you get when you cross a person forced to work 60 hour weeks and bosses that have decided they don’t want to go home tonight?  This is not really an open-ended question, given the title and all.  However, if you guessed ‘a free trip to a strip club’, you’re 8% right.  The other 92% of that answer is ‘a 2 to 3 hour shit show where you’re served high calorie appetizers and beer (mixed drinks if you’re lucky).’  Of course, this would be awesome on a weekday if you didn’t have to be to work by 8 AM and you weren’t surrounded by the same people you’ve been around for the last 10 hours.  Another acceptable answer might be ‘a drunken tryst that ends in a nasty divorce and issues with authority at future jobs’.

Basically, your bosses get more respect, to their faces, in the workplace than they do at home.  Think about it.  Would you be the happiest person in the world if you worked 70+ hours a week to afford your family the best of the best only to have your kids tell you they hate you while your spouse schedules all your free time with stuff you don’t want to do?  Easy answer, “FUCK NO!”  Who would?  Not me!  Dare I say that I’d be as near to suicidal as possible?  Dare I also say that instances like this are the roots of chronic alcoholism?

The weeknight social event is where your boss gets their chance to shine.  You should keep in mind that there is a chance your boss will go a little overboard with the drinking and become a douche and a half.  I’ve found that the best way to deal with habitual line crossers is to say nothing at the time.  Instead, you should wait till you’re with your coworkers to sow the seeds of disloyalty.  Eventually, they’ll sense their work family is becoming eerily similar to their real family and get their shit together.  If not, quit for a new job after you finally get that raise.  As an alternative to that, you could grow a pair, threaten your boss with a sexual harassment suit and quit after they give you a raise as compensation for being such a bag.

Pick That Shit Up!

June 5, 2009

Hey Mr. Man with the Wall Street Journal or New York Times in the bathroom.  What the fuck is goin’ on, buddy? You too good for the internet? Of course, the answer is ‘no’. Own a PDA and just don’t know how to work it?  If so, go get a prepaid cell and give that shit to your kid. He may stop calling you a dick behind your back.  Scared your boss will see you checking stock quotes or keeping up with current affairs?  Threaten him with a sexual harassment lawsuit in a one-on-one meeting.

I know! You still have a fantasy about being an animal, an animal who’s owner is so cheap they use newspaper to line the cage!  Well, grow the fuck up. I don’t want to feel like I’m in a hamster cage every time I take a shit at work.  And how come you never, ever, ever take the fucking paper with you? No one wants to read anything covered in your ball skin with the stench of digested Indian food all over it that’s been on a semi-public bathroom floor.  I’d rather go down on Rosie O’Donnell.  It’s bad enough you didn’t flush the damn toilet to make your “cage” look more realistic. Fuck it. I’m buying Depends from now on.  You people make me sick!

Take a Note

May 28, 2009

Take a noteBitch!  Of course, I could take a note.  I have two degrees, and the skills of a fucking champion!  You know what that means?  You, most likely, have a similar, though inferior, skill set.  This means you could take a note, at the very damn least.  Ever hear of a tape recorder, chump?  How about that BlackBerry on your big ass hips?  Yet, you ask me to take a 4-word note for you.  If your middle-aged ass can’t remember to send one e-mail, quit the game today, and don’t even think about pushing ‘restart’, punk bitch!  Just because you make more money than me, doesn’t mean I’m here to take fucking notes because your wrist is sore from beating it to UFC.  So, stuff your sorrys in a sack and go fuck yourself.  When you get back, take your own note.  Then, promptly choke on it!  Or I could write that shit on your shirt with a Sharpie.  MAKE A CHOICE!

So Sick of Commercials Set in the Morning

May 5, 2009

I hate these fucking things. Everyone looks like they’ve been up for hours walking around at an overly than leisurely pace without a care in the world. This would be awesome if it were true for anyone other than my grandparents and anyone else that’s asleep by 6pm.

The latest in this consistent string of make believe scenarios is the Verizon hub commercial.  Some K-Fed University grad with a PhD in being a deadbeat is walking around with a smug look on his face sipping a cup of coffee. He looks like he just had a quickie with the hot housekeeper as his wife drives the kids to school.  This lazy sack of scommercials-in-the-morninghit proceeds to use the home phone like a PDA do the same shit he can do from his cell phone and trick his wife into thinking he still cares by sending a text about traffic.

Not only is this the furthest thing from the reality [not the technology, the scenario] of morning for anyone that’s not wealthy beyond necessity, it implies these people are rich enough for a cutting edge home phone but somehow can’t afford GPS in their car.  What the fuck?  Wipe that smile off your face and go contribute to society, asshole. That new phone isn’t going to keep your daughters from smoking crack while you check up on sports scores in you PJ’S.