I hate my job…

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 wanna-be chick. Yeah, okay, she is
pretty hot, but damn is she completely useless. The girl is constantly
fixing her hair or putting on makeup. She is extremely self-centered
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 anytime 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 second-hand 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 McDonalds and
Burger King, every single fucking day.

Anyway, I drive these fucktards around in my van and we solve
mysteries and shit.

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