I found myself in the unenviable position today of having to rely on someone who MAY or MAY NOT have suffered traumatic brain injury in the past month or so in order to do my job. After not one, not two, but SIX requests for this person to do HIS job so that I could do MINE, I finally called one of his employees and asked HER to do it. I would have, by the by, done that in first place, but the demented fucker with a dent in his head just kept answering the goddamned phone.
I spent about 20 minutes this morning thinking about taking up cutting like some emo 13-year-old. Is that weird? That seems weird to me. . .
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1 comment:
Next time, think about cutting him instead. That's not quite sane either, but it's saner.
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