It's Sunday and, in general, I turn into a sad, cranky bastard on Sundays. It usually starts out okay but somewhere during the afternoon it suddenly occurs to me that I have to work the next day and then I get all kinds of rage-y about it, especially since I left work on Friday in a complete irate lather, thanks to a 13 email-trail of pure fucking Stupid.
To: Jenny Jerkface
From: Imma Cockhole
Re: URGENT, NEED IMMEDIATELY
I have a client meeting in 45 seconds and I need you to compile a detailed spreadsheet of our year-to-date spent from the last five years.
Also, can you please explain to me what I did last Tuesday? I know I worked.
Mother. Fucker. Breathe, breathe, breathe...
To: Imma Cockhole From: Jenny Jerkface Re: URGENT, NEED IMMEDIATELY
I'm afraid that there is no way I can complete the task you're asking me to do in such a short period of time. As you've been told every other time you ask me to do something like this, I do not have the ability to defy the time-space continuum or the law of physics to do the impossible.
Also, have you had a chance to approve the April reports I sent you months ago and have been hounding you for on a near daily basis ever since? I really need to complete this month's reporting.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, asshat.
To: Jenny Jerkface From: Imma Cockhole Re: URGENT, NEED IMMEDIATELY
This is absolutely unacceptable. I don't understand why this request cannot be completed with little to no advance warning. I may not have any idea of what you do but I don't see why it should take you any more than a few seconds to go through millions upon millions of line items and charges.
Not happy, JJ.
You'll get your April reports when I have a moment. I'm currently out having a latte with the other useless person from floor 9.
Now, imagine this email trail going back and forth for TWO HOURS, until I finally threw my hands up and shrieked, "DID YOU DRINK A BOWL OF STUPID FOR BREAKFAST, YOU DUMB FUCKING DUMB-FUCK!?!"
It's a good thing Cockhole doesn't sit on my floor.
Anyway, this is why Sundays suck. I just can't stop thinking about the fuckery I will face in less than twenty-four hours when I open my inbox to find 103 emails of pure idiocy.
Naturally, because I'm already in the mind-set to behave like a total douche-pecker, pretty much anything is irking me today but there was one thing that made me so fucking mad my teeth actually hurt.
That is the view from my toilet. That black crumpled thing is a hand towel. That light green carpet thing-y is a bath mat. Typically, bath mats are supposed to next to the bathtub but for some reason mine sort of floats haphazardly around the bathroom floor. I'm 99% positive that ML does a fucking jig on that carpet each time he goes to the bathroom.
More importantly - PICK UP THE FUCKING HAND TOWEL, ML!!!
I just don't get it. Does an item become electrified when it falls on the ground? Like being incapable of refilling ice cube trays, ML apparently can't pick up fucking hand towels when they fall on the ground. (It's also a REALLY good thing ML doesn't read this blog, or he'd probably smother me with a pillow or something).
This isn't just an isolated incident, either. ML claims he doesn't see shit like this. It's like the second something hits the ground, it disappears from view, like Harry Potter and his invisibility cloak. Anything ML drops will remain on the floor until I pick it up or yell at him to pick it up.
I've been told it's a guy thing. If that's the case, I'm just going to start walking around the house, swinging my arms wildly and when ML complains that I keep hitting him I'm just gonna say, "it's a girl thing, ML."
Don't get me wrong, ML does A LOT around the house. Probably more than most dudes. And he's an awesome gardener and he hasn't dumped me even though it's been like six years and ALL my crazy has surfaced at one point or another.
But still, man. Pick up the fucking hand towel.
So tell me, ladies - is it really just a "guy thing"?
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