Friday, April 27, 2012

L is for Lollygagging with Letters, More Open Letters to the World: Or Phoning it In

Dear Birds Outside My Window,

Dear Work,
I don't feel like doing you today.  Maybe I won't.
So there.

Dear Cranky Old Hag in My Office,
Yes, you. No one likes you.  No one cares about your bat-shit-crazy opinions. And thanks for the backhanded birthday wish yesterday.
P.S You're kind of a bitch, you might want to work on that.

Dear Brain,
Please just stay sane enough to get through this day and then we can go home and play video games until we pass out from exhaustion.

Dear Pottermore,
Why do you make me addicted to you so? I feel like a total prat.

Dear Space Shuttle Enterprise,
I want to watch you travel up the Hudson and get loaded onto a ship by a ginormous crane, it will be so cool!  But I can't because apparently watching history happen doesn't constitute as an office holiday.

Dear Time,

Dear Co-workers,
If you're not going to actually do any work, will you at least sit at your desk and pretend to work like the rest of us? God forbid I have to ask you a goddamn question and can't find you because you're off doing fuck-all somewhere for 30 minutes. It's fine, I enjoy doing 3 times the work I should have to be doing because you won't, while getting paid the same amount of money you do.

Dear Woman on Hold,
Yes, you are going to sit on hold while I write a poor-excuse-for-a-blog-post until you get tired of holding and hang up, or until you decide to pull your head out of your ass and realize the reason you're calling is not because our system is broken but really because you're an idiot.  Why?  Because you're being a nasty bitch. That's why.  You don't have time to deal with your computer problems that are not my fault but you think I should magically be able to fix and do all of your work for you?  Well, I don't have time to listen to you bitch and moan and act indignant and insult me when you can't follow simple instructions over the phone so I can do my job to determine the actual problem.
I take that back, I figured out the problem: You're a self-absorbed barnacle on the scut of life, it's Friday afternoon, and I no longer give a rat's ass-I am not your punching bag to yell at because you hate yourself. You can call back all you want, but now we know your number and have the power to push the "ignore" button on the phone.  Good day.


Dear Reader(s),
Yes I realize this isn't really a post.
I promise to do better tomorrow.


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