When one of your underlings tries to “off” herself during your watch, you know it’s gonna be a fucktastic day. Sending this latest victim of corporate America to the funny farm puts us down five worker bees in the cube farm. If I hear the word “schedule” one more time, I think I might commit a crime of dispassion.
Having a sudden bout of explosive diarrhea during a full moon rite after having endured “suicidal tendencies day” at work really blows. At least my glutes got a workout, what with all the squeezing them together in abject fear that I was going to spray paint the walls brown if I so much as twitched a cheek. Too much info? Too fucking bad. It’s a result of all the sugar-free mess (bad choice of words) I consume in order to satisfy my sweet-tooth. Sugarbeetus sucks arse (another bad choice of words).
Finding out your cat has tendencies toward the lesbo side of the Force is… freakin’ AWESOME. I think having a gay “kid” makes me a cool mom or some shit. Right?
At least the day ended on a high note. Sort of.