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Frozen Tootsies has more experience working in offices than you might expect from a rabid squirrel ho.
In the course of this wasted life, FT has shared air space for eight hour shifts with some real head cases. It was hard to stay cool about the antics of these bimbos, idiots, psychos, losers, and morons. ‘Cos they were like, you know, in OUR space, OK?
Makin their nonstop stupid personal phone calls, gettin their ugly shorts in a knot over nuthin we could figure out, stealin our lunch from the fridge (oh YEAH baby you know it’s true), whinin all the time, showin up late because they have like children, leaving early because one or another of their spawn has to go to juvie court. And BRINGING the kids to the OFFICE, for hours.
And how come they were ALWAYS the ones with car trouble all the time? And money problems? And ten to one were the ones who would come in – eventually – on a Monday all high and happy from buying a big new fuckin TV or boat or timeshare. On credit of course. You know. All that shit.
Well, one poor innocent co-worker has been blogging about such a co-worker from hell, at The Chronicles of Bleh. Bless the blogger’s little heart and opposable thumbs.
Read – and bookmark – that blog.
Now. Whatcha waitin’ for, a bus to come by?
Look, just go there now. You want to be hunted down by a rabid squirrel ho?
Huh. Didn’t think so.