morons have been doing renovation works in my office since monday. and yes, it's driving me crazy.
for the past five days i've heard nothing but planks of wood being sawed, nails being hammered, planers wheezing in the middle of important phone calls, and carpenters' small talk. and i thought those carpernters looked a little bit too thin. they were like anorexic. so i think you'd understand why i asked if any of them guys is somehow related to karen carpenter of, of course, the carpenters. they stared at me blankly. then i decided to take it up a notch by asking them to sing superstar. again, they stared at me blankly. fucking morons. fucking freaky morons! they were like staring at me with those "children of the corn" eyes.
the only upside from all these is getting high on paint thinner for the past five days. but other than that, the whole thing was both annoying and distracting, and if you combine the two, you get something like "annotracting," which is german for "pretty fucked up." okay, i don't know what the fuck i'm saying.
let's just fucking rant, shall we?
:: sticking your finger where the sun don't shine, then using it -- how do you even call this disorder? fuck. so you're lazy. you don't want to use the stairs and elect to ride the elevator instead. while waiting, a fucktard on a cellphone stands beside you. yeah, he's pretty well dressed with a three-piece suit and talks to an "associate" over the phone about the "dell effect" and "selective sourcing is changing the landscape of supply chain mangement yada yada yada.
he switches his phone from his right ear to his left ear, then takes his right index finger and sticks it in his right ear and gives it a few passionate wiggles. so passionate in fact, he even closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. yeah, it was that good. after that, and without even wiping it, he takes the same finger and pushes the elevator's up button. jesus motherfucking christ doing backflips!!! that is just sick!!! fuck you, you washed out psuedo-financial analyst from the post yuppie era wearing a three-piece suit. wash your fucking hands! didn't your mother tell you not to go sticking your finger in things not sold in walmart?
now i see myself as a someone with a pretty strong stomach for things. but the fucker grossed me out so much i had to take the friggin' stairs. and i had to sweat like a pig. and i hate sweating. fuck you, you unsanitary bitch!
:: it's like onions, only worse -- now if you think something's too offensive to look at, you look the other way. if you think something tastes so bad, you don't eat it. but what about the smell? tell me, how the fuck can you avoid someone who smells like onions inside a jampacked bus at 7:44 in the morning without saying to his face, "i'd actually work an extra four hours a day just to have the money to pay some people to shower." people who smell should be shot. and if they smell and ride the bus, they should be shot twice.
shower, motherfucker!!! is that too hard? are you a fucking retard you can't shower on your own? is your time really that precious you can't even waste fucking five minutes of it just to get a decent shampoo and scrub? shower, stinkbomb, or i'll be forced to resign from work and consider a career change. like be a kickass fireman. but i won't be putting out fires, no sir. i'll set up a special hot line for people to call every time they smell someone like you roaming in public. and if they do call, i'll get on my kickass 14-wheeler fire red fire truck and hunt for you. and when i see you, i'll aim my super kickass fire hose on your stinkin' ass and hose you down with bleach. yeah, you heard me, bleach. my truck will be like loaded with a thousand gallons of bleach at any given time, ready to disinfect stinking bombs. so please, shower.
:: i know it's a baby tee -- but if it doesn't look good on you, don't fucking wear it. right? right! and if you think i'm wrong, fuck you. i'm sick and tired of people who insist wearing small shirts just to show some skin. yeah, mostly they're women. or transvestites. either way, i think they're wrong if they think it's sexy to wear these baby tees that don't cover up their belly. well, actually it's a good thing if you're fit, but when your belly sticks out, oh man, that's another story. because you'll just end up looking like either: (1) a dude with nice, shiny hair and manicured nails, (2) a girl who wears her backpack up front, (3) or someone who loves attending college beerbong parties.
and how about those with navels that simply look ugly. yuck! it doesn't matter if you pierce a ring through that shit, it still looks like nick nolte! and i hate nick nolte. fuck nick nolte!
i'm out.
for the past five days i've heard nothing but planks of wood being sawed, nails being hammered, planers wheezing in the middle of important phone calls, and carpenters' small talk. and i thought those carpernters looked a little bit too thin. they were like anorexic. so i think you'd understand why i asked if any of them guys is somehow related to karen carpenter of, of course, the carpenters. they stared at me blankly. then i decided to take it up a notch by asking them to sing superstar. again, they stared at me blankly. fucking morons. fucking freaky morons! they were like staring at me with those "children of the corn" eyes.
the only upside from all these is getting high on paint thinner for the past five days. but other than that, the whole thing was both annoying and distracting, and if you combine the two, you get something like "annotracting," which is german for "pretty fucked up." okay, i don't know what the fuck i'm saying.
let's just fucking rant, shall we?
:: sticking your finger where the sun don't shine, then using it -- how do you even call this disorder? fuck. so you're lazy. you don't want to use the stairs and elect to ride the elevator instead. while waiting, a fucktard on a cellphone stands beside you. yeah, he's pretty well dressed with a three-piece suit and talks to an "associate" over the phone about the "dell effect" and "selective sourcing is changing the landscape of supply chain mangement yada yada yada.
he switches his phone from his right ear to his left ear, then takes his right index finger and sticks it in his right ear and gives it a few passionate wiggles. so passionate in fact, he even closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. yeah, it was that good. after that, and without even wiping it, he takes the same finger and pushes the elevator's up button. jesus motherfucking christ doing backflips!!! that is just sick!!! fuck you, you washed out psuedo-financial analyst from the post yuppie era wearing a three-piece suit. wash your fucking hands! didn't your mother tell you not to go sticking your finger in things not sold in walmart?
now i see myself as a someone with a pretty strong stomach for things. but the fucker grossed me out so much i had to take the friggin' stairs. and i had to sweat like a pig. and i hate sweating. fuck you, you unsanitary bitch!
:: it's like onions, only worse -- now if you think something's too offensive to look at, you look the other way. if you think something tastes so bad, you don't eat it. but what about the smell? tell me, how the fuck can you avoid someone who smells like onions inside a jampacked bus at 7:44 in the morning without saying to his face, "i'd actually work an extra four hours a day just to have the money to pay some people to shower." people who smell should be shot. and if they smell and ride the bus, they should be shot twice.
shower, motherfucker!!! is that too hard? are you a fucking retard you can't shower on your own? is your time really that precious you can't even waste fucking five minutes of it just to get a decent shampoo and scrub? shower, stinkbomb, or i'll be forced to resign from work and consider a career change. like be a kickass fireman. but i won't be putting out fires, no sir. i'll set up a special hot line for people to call every time they smell someone like you roaming in public. and if they do call, i'll get on my kickass 14-wheeler fire red fire truck and hunt for you. and when i see you, i'll aim my super kickass fire hose on your stinkin' ass and hose you down with bleach. yeah, you heard me, bleach. my truck will be like loaded with a thousand gallons of bleach at any given time, ready to disinfect stinking bombs. so please, shower.
:: i know it's a baby tee -- but if it doesn't look good on you, don't fucking wear it. right? right! and if you think i'm wrong, fuck you. i'm sick and tired of people who insist wearing small shirts just to show some skin. yeah, mostly they're women. or transvestites. either way, i think they're wrong if they think it's sexy to wear these baby tees that don't cover up their belly. well, actually it's a good thing if you're fit, but when your belly sticks out, oh man, that's another story. because you'll just end up looking like either: (1) a dude with nice, shiny hair and manicured nails, (2) a girl who wears her backpack up front, (3) or someone who loves attending college beerbong parties.
and how about those with navels that simply look ugly. yuck! it doesn't matter if you pierce a ring through that shit, it still looks like nick nolte! and i hate nick nolte. fuck nick nolte!
i'm out.
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