'The Killer In Me'
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risqué (and frisqué), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Shit I Didn't Say:
Stop.
No, seriously, stop. Shut up.
I said shut up!
God, who cares?!
Fuckin' douchenozzle. That's right: Douche. Nozzle.
I couldn't give less of a shit on a low residue diet.
Okay, I was wrong. I could give less of a shit.
God, seriously, how do you get through your day without forgetting to breathe or accidentally strangling yourself while attempting to tie your shoes?
Fuck. Off. Fuck off. Fuckoff. Fuckofffuckofffuckoff.
Have a pleasant day.
suddenly my day seems much brighter by comparison.
I took this teeny tiny pill yesterday for my rash. Today I feel like a took a giant bong rip just before work. Still, the only person who is annoying me is myself.
Antihistimines will do that to you Laga.
Shit I didn't say
Vortex, my file of these things is vast.
I couldn't give less of a shit on a low residue diet.
I think I need to appropriate this sentence.
You may have it.
Antihistimines will do that to you Laga
but it's so tiny! I'm glad I only have to be on them for six more days. And truthfully: fog-bound is better than itchy.
The wild parrots are back. I love their gleeful chitter-chatter.
You may have it.
Woot!
20 minutes to go...
The phones have been quiet...too quiet. All throughout the day they had been constant in their squealing and howling, but now they lay dormant...waiting...ripe with potential for last minute annoyance.
I sip my water and eye them nervously. Dare I go on Facebook? B.org? Check my e-mail or bank account? Or will the slightest move, the merest twitch set them to shrilling, opening themselves...and me...to the ear-bleedingly stupid questions and inanities of the World Beyond These Cubicles?
I can wait no longer. I will chance it...I move my hands...
Curse you, Dark Gods of Fate and Fucktards! I answer:
"Thank you for calling [Company], how can I help you?"
"I haven't received my W2 forms yet."
"They haven't been mailed yet."
"Why?"
What can I tell her? Because we don't like her? Because we're viciously conspiring to delay her miniscule tax return just as long as we can? What? WHAT?!
"I don't know, ma'am."
"Uch! *sigh* Fine." *click*
A narrow escape. I lean back in my chair and eye the clock, hands shaking. I want a cigarette very badly, but I will wait...I will savor one as I make my escape to Freedom.
Sixteen minutes to go...