On a 20 minute drive this weekend, I called various drivers a fuckstick, a fuckcake and a fuckwad. Of course, I thought of you.
Aww...I'm touched.
As to my day being fuckcake free, well...we all know that won't happen...
Phone: *Ring*
Me: Aw, c'mon! It's my birthday!
Phone: *Happy birthday. Ring.*
Me: You don't really care, do you?
Phone: *No. Ring.*
Me: You suck.
Fuckcake O' the Day Numero Uno: I'd like to cancel my insurance.
Me: Okay, what's your name please?
FCOtDNU: Fuckcake O' the Day Numero Uno.
Me: Thank you. *clackity type type* Um...sir, we show you were terminated a year ago.
FCOtDNU: Yeah, they fired me.
Me: Then you don't have insurance through us.
FCOtDNU: The hell I don't!
Me: Sir...how did you pay for your insurance when you were with us?
FCOtDNU: You took it out of my paycheck.
Me: Right.
FCOtDNU: Right.
Me: ...
FCOtDNU: ...
Me: ...
FCOtDNU: ...I...don't get a paycheck from you anymore.
Me: Right.
FCOtDNU: ...so...I'm not paying for insurance...
Me: ...
FCOtDNU: ...so...why am I calling you?
Me: I'm sure I don't know.
FCOtDNU: ...
Me: ...
FCOtDNU: *click*
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOE!
Congrats to Buffista sprog and their college acceptances!
Sorry you're having a rotten day, Aims.
I just woke up, AIFG. I have a crapload to do today, and I am so glad that none of it will involve safety drills. Apparently that's what the entire afternoon of the PD day is supposed to be. I think I'll celebrate our NEWLY TILED TUB (love our landlady so much) by showering and then fetch the kitties from the cat palace, take down Christmas decorations, and unpack. Then I'll prep for classes tomorrow. So much better than safety drills.
Heeee. That's not a fuckcake, MM; that's just a moron.
That's not a fuckcake, MM; that's just a moron.
Often the two terms are interchangeable.
At least he figured it out eventually.
I suppose you would have to be a moron to fuck cake.
A Special Birthday Smiting for Aimee's Boss:
May all you encounter reflect back unto you the overweening arrogance coupled with blind stupidity that you exude in every waking moment of your pallid existence. May the gods of commerce withdraw their favor, sucking dry your accounts and leaving you bereft and adrift, living in your company pick-up truck and subsisting off the refuse found in the fetid dumpsters of fast food establishments.
May all the days of your life be spent reviled and loathed by all who meet you; may they refuse to meet your eye nor hear your voice; may their compassion fail and their touch be brutal unto you.
May every endeavor you attempt turn to filth in thy hands and run from between thy fingers as you strive to grasp it.
May the face of God be turned from you, your fall unmarked, your life unremarked, your death alone and unmourned.
In short: Ass 'im in his ear.
Addendum: But may you give Aimee a nice severance package before all of thus befalls you.
