The Warmth of the Sun

It all seemed to be going so well. Listening to Ian Dury and the Blockheads, ‘Do It Yourself’. That record, now CD, always makes me feel good. What a crackerjack band those Blockheads, and what lyrics and vocals from the late Mr. Dury. ‘Through channels that were once canals, do lift the heart of my morale, to know, that we, are pals’. Never had a chance to see them, they only played the states once and it didn’t go well.

So I floated to work, listening to Do It Yourself, and I was feeling pretty good. It’s true, hell is other people. Once my coworkers started arriving, the day started going downhill. Being it was the day before the day before Thanksgiving, pies were ordered. Not just any pies, and not any pies in the immediate vicinity. No, these pies were across town.

They ordered about a dozen pies. Apple Sour Cream, Pumpkin, and Carrot Cake Apple sauce. Jamie the office manager and I had a town car to take us to the pie company, so the cost of 12 pies was about 500.00.

The president of the company paid for them. This is the same guy I spoke to about my issues at work. This is the same guy that has done nothing. And the issues and the situation have gotten worse.

I did hear from Jamie, that Bleedin’ Hope and her bleedin brain moved to San Francisco, which really confirms my suspicions that she lied about everything. I mean, if your brain was bleeding, do you think it would be a good idea to pull up your roots, forget the doctors, and move to the other side of the country?

No one bats an eye. Now the 34th floor water buffalo known as Wombus with the kidney problems has been whispering in the ear of her supervisor, Joe Hemosaxual. Faggot douche bag supreme. I’m sure that’s how he graduated from the business school. Such a fucking priss. He has no clue what’s going on, only what fat ass tells him. Fat ass comes in late, waddles around the office, annoying people with her Staten Island drone, and leaves early. She dresses like she’s going to play bingo in a trailer park. Sometimes she does nothing all day, stays late, gets a free dinner and a car service home to Staten Island.
He fired off an email stating that put upon Brenda isn’t a team player since she doesn’t really communicate with the other admin assistants. But doesn’t the Persian bitch fall into that category? She doesn’t speak to me, is she a team player? I mean I can picture her doing the team in the locker room in some triple X rated porn flick, but a team player?
No not at all.

She seems to have won over various people in the company. Men who are easily swayed by tight pants and four inch heels. I guess these neck bones never had the opportunity to be driving past the Javits Center late at night and seeing her doppelgangers outside turning tricks in rabbit fur coats.

And most of them are Transgendered who look way better, even with a five o’clock shadow. The only proper name for her is anatomical slang for vagina.
I desperately need to be out of there. Not her vagina, I wouldn’t be anywhere near that thing, but rather, out of Wanker Banker. It’s too bad. At one point it was a pretty good place to work. Now, I’m a relic, a dinosaur from another time. Maybe I should leave some dung behind so they could dig it up long after I’m gone.

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