My fucking job
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My job is so fucking unbelievable. I' ll try to sum it
up by first telling you about the folks I work with.
First, there is this supermodel wannabee chick.
Yeah, okay, she is pretty hot, but damn is she
completely useless. The girl is constantly fixing
her hair or putting on makeout. She is extremely
and has never once considered the
needs or wants of anyone but herself. She is as
dumb as a box of rocks and I still find it surprising
that she has enough brain power to continue to
breathe. The next chick is completely the
opposite. She might even be one of the smartest
people on the planet. Her career opportunities
are endless and yet she is here with us. She is a
zero on a scale of 1 to 10. I' m not sure she even
showers, much less shaves her "womanly" parts.
I think she might be a lesbian because every time
we drive by the hardware store she moans like a
cat in heat.
But the jewel of the crowd has got to be the
fucking stoner. And this guy is more than just
your average pothead. In fact, he is baked before
he comes to work, during work, and I' m sure
after work. He probably hasn' t been sober any
time in the last ten years, and he' s only 22. He
dresses like a beatnik throwback from the
1960' s, and to make things worse, he brings his
big fucking dog to work. Every fucking day I have
to look at this huge Great Dane walk around half-
stoned from the smoke. Hell,
sometimes I even think it' s trying to talk with its
constant bellowing. Also, both of them are
constantly hungry, requiring multiple stops to
McDonald' s and Burger King, every single fucking
Anyway, I drive these fucktards around in my
van and we solve mysteries and shit.