Help
I have thought this thought many times. But now, I know it must be true. At my work, much like LOST, the government is running a social interaction experiment. I know they must. Between all the oddballs and retarded people - no place in the world could contain all of these freaks.
From the woman who showed my co-worker her poop stained grandma-draws. To the "special" kid who tries to give me massages, this place is nucking futs, with enough retards and asinine non-tards to fill a four hour mini-series of, Life Goes On.
Obla-dee-obla-da
You know something, I am failing this experiment. Everyday at lunch, myself, along with a few chosen co-workers, for the first 10 minutes of our lunch we fear for our lives. Or so it seems. One such retard/actor, I swear they are all actors, he eats his lunch within 20 feet of us. Well, he doesn't really eat, he shoves food in his mouth as fast as he possibly can. He rapes his sandwich, murders his chips, and molest his mini-muffins. All while getting 75% of his food on his face.
You ask, why do you fear for your lives? We fear for our lives because this food mangler, god forbid he can't open his mini-muffins or doritos bag - after gnawing on the bag with his chocolate pudding tickled lips - he has enough balls and gull to come over and ask if one of us can open the bag. Which would be fine and dandy, if that bag wasn't covered in every possible thing that entered his mouth in the last 5 minutes. Plus, the dude smells like he is pissing his pants.
I am the type of person who has stated that when I have a baby I will hire a nanny to change its diapers. So, this guy comes over expecting me to open his bag goodd luck. Well, one time he did have good luck.
I hadn't smelled the piss yet, as he handed me his mushed-food-drool covered mini-muffin bag. As I tried to rotate the bag to the non-disgusting side, that's when it hit me. It smelled like a baby covered my face with it's pissed soaked diaper. After the first urine-soaked air molecule entered my nostrils I began struggling with the bag. I couldn't open it. I felt my gag reflex twitching in the back of my throat. My eyes began to tear, my face was turning red, my forehead began to sweat and wrinkle. I was only using my finger tips to open the nasty-ass bag, fore I did not want a palmful of pre-mouthed pudding. I began to panic, my co-workers looked on in fear. The smell was getting stronger, the retard began laughing the laugh of the devil, my peripheral vision began fading. I thought I was going to die.
ZZZZZZZZZZiiiiiiiip.
Angels started singing. My vision came back. The sun got brighter. The piss smell was still there. But I opened the bag, that god damn bag. The "special" man clapped, the only way those people clap, he might have said thank you, I couldn't make it out. He took his bag and he stomped away. Leaving only the smell of pee, he was out of our lives, well, at least for the rest of that day.
From the woman who showed my co-worker her poop stained grandma-draws. To the "special" kid who tries to give me massages, this place is nucking futs, with enough retards and asinine non-tards to fill a four hour mini-series of, Life Goes On.
Obla-dee-obla-da
You know something, I am failing this experiment. Everyday at lunch, myself, along with a few chosen co-workers, for the first 10 minutes of our lunch we fear for our lives. Or so it seems. One such retard/actor, I swear they are all actors, he eats his lunch within 20 feet of us. Well, he doesn't really eat, he shoves food in his mouth as fast as he possibly can. He rapes his sandwich, murders his chips, and molest his mini-muffins. All while getting 75% of his food on his face.
You ask, why do you fear for your lives? We fear for our lives because this food mangler, god forbid he can't open his mini-muffins or doritos bag - after gnawing on the bag with his chocolate pudding tickled lips - he has enough balls and gull to come over and ask if one of us can open the bag. Which would be fine and dandy, if that bag wasn't covered in every possible thing that entered his mouth in the last 5 minutes. Plus, the dude smells like he is pissing his pants.
I am the type of person who has stated that when I have a baby I will hire a nanny to change its diapers. So, this guy comes over expecting me to open his bag goodd luck. Well, one time he did have good luck.
I hadn't smelled the piss yet, as he handed me his mushed-food-drool covered mini-muffin bag. As I tried to rotate the bag to the non-disgusting side, that's when it hit me. It smelled like a baby covered my face with it's pissed soaked diaper. After the first urine-soaked air molecule entered my nostrils I began struggling with the bag. I couldn't open it. I felt my gag reflex twitching in the back of my throat. My eyes began to tear, my face was turning red, my forehead began to sweat and wrinkle. I was only using my finger tips to open the nasty-ass bag, fore I did not want a palmful of pre-mouthed pudding. I began to panic, my co-workers looked on in fear. The smell was getting stronger, the retard began laughing the laugh of the devil, my peripheral vision began fading. I thought I was going to die.
ZZZZZZZZZZiiiiiiiip.
Angels started singing. My vision came back. The sun got brighter. The piss smell was still there. But I opened the bag, that god damn bag. The "special" man clapped, the only way those people clap, he might have said thank you, I couldn't make it out. He took his bag and he stomped away. Leaving only the smell of pee, he was out of our lives, well, at least for the rest of that day.
This entry was posted by Geoff, on
Monday, April 10, 2006.
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