My boss Stan sure has his nerve. Right when I’m hitting my stride, providing my loyal and intelligent readers with the most up-to-date, hard-hitting news reporting on the web, Stan starts dumping the work on my plate. Do this, do that. What the hell, Stan – am I your g*ddam slave? Stan has loaded so much work on my shoulders that I feel like Dominic the Christmas donkey. I’m so piled up, that my two hour lunch is down to a mere ninety minutes -- I practically have to gulp the third martini down. If I choke on an olive, Stan, it’s your fault! And if that’s not bad enough, the jerk has left me no time for blogging.
Apparently he has no desire to improve the general literacy of the nation. If Stan ruled the world, he would keep us all in darkness. The dumbbell thinks it’s more important for me to inventory the tool crib for nth time versus saving soldiers by forwarding critical chain-emails to seven of my friends. His priorities are all screwed up.
Well now I’m fighting back. This morning I hid in the john (stall 3) for over two hours. Sure my buns were aching, but it’s worth it because I’m teaching Stan a lesson. I didn’t see him this morning anyways; the taskmaster is probably in slave training school.
So Stan, if you’re out there listening, take this blog entry and shove it!
I guess I told him.
2 comments:
That was you in stall 3?
Let's just say it was a good friend whose name rhymes with "Slang Junior"
L. jr
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