Fuck You

You know what? I’m really sick of all you motherfuckers out there who think it a stellar idea to kick me while I’m down.

Fuck you.

I’m getting real fucking sick of your shit.

Look, from now on if I don’t look happy, don’t fucking talk to me. If I walk in on Monday morning with a fucking hangover and start getting bitched at by my customer before I even have my computer on, don’t fucking tell me what I should have said or should have done. I don’t give a shit about anything you could possibly spew from your fucking face right now, so again…don’t fucking talk to me. Let me sit at my desk and growl, don’t even look at me…its taking every ounce of restraint to not throw my fucking Swingline at you.

If I don’t look happy, don’t fucking talk to me. If I walk outside to smoke a cigarette and hurl a beer bottle against my car, don’t fucking talk to me. If I decide to put that shit out on my arm, don’t fucking try to stop me. If I want to punch my hand through the wall, don’t get in my way. You assholes are all a bunch of fucking snakes anyways so go fuck yourselves.

This is addressed to all of you cunts I see on a daily basis…I fucking hate every single one of you, so…don’t fucking talk to me.