Today starts like every other day. First cuppa shit-colored sunshine primes me, second gets me goin, third gets the juices flowin.
I’ve learned to start my day with a completely silent drive to work. No music, no radio, no talk. Mornings are for coffee and contemplation. For some reason, it keeps me from wanting to stab the first sphincter-licking buttshark that tries to start conversation in the morning. Today, it’s Steve. Again. As always. I don’t think he’s caught on to the pattern of chirpy response, sullen grunt.
He comments on my struggle to be a morning person, which is a severe fuckup if your entire goal is to actually start a conversation in which I’m not pissed off. You’re right I’m not a morning person, but fuck are you an idiot, because your definition of “morning person” is more like “empty shell of a personality that just shoves whatever emotions you THINK your boss wants to see in there, and plasters a corny Colgate smile on in the morning in a sad attempt to convince yourself just as much as everyone else that you don’t hate your entry-level, bullshit ridden, chock full of fuck-fuck games excuse for a job.”
Huge test today. Made sure to bring in a pack of cowboy killers because I like a nice cigarette after I get FUCKED.
Here’s a change in tone for you though: this weekend I have absolutely nothing planned, and I enjoy that thought. So much so that I even cracked a smile when it crossed my mind this morning. I will be home with the dog, I will probably spend one evening drinking heavily, and at some point my masochism will kick back in and I’ll go for a painfully long run.
Never touched the stuff. My line of work is fueled by pure, unadulterated hate and discontent. So much so that once you reach a certain level, it is entirely possible to be prescribed mild amphetamines to keep you moving.
Me? Nothing but that sweet black gravy of life and unbridled rage.
Advertise
If by “blend” you mean Columbian coffee and not the other Colombian blend, I do not recommend. Direct injection is bad juju for the ticker.
However you can snort it for a sweet effect.
Today starts like every other day. First cuppa shit-colored sunshine primes me, second gets me goin, third gets the juices flowin.
I’ve learned to start my day with a completely silent drive to work. No music, no radio, no talk. Mornings are for coffee and contemplation. For some reason, it keeps me from wanting to stab the first sphincter-licking buttshark that tries to start conversation in the morning. Today, it’s Steve. Again. As always. I don’t think he’s caught on to the pattern of chirpy response, sullen grunt.
He comments on my struggle to be a morning person, which is a severe fuckup if your entire goal is to actually start a conversation in which I’m not pissed off. You’re right I’m not a morning person, but fuck are you an idiot, because your definition of “morning person” is more like “empty shell of a personality that just shoves whatever emotions you THINK your boss wants to see in there, and plasters a corny Colgate smile on in the morning in a sad attempt to convince yourself just as much as everyone else that you don’t hate your entry-level, bullshit ridden, chock full of fuck-fuck games excuse for a job.”
Now where the fuck are the coffee grounds.
Speaking of speaking up….
Sup?
My condolences. The soon-to-be MrsCaffeineAndRage doesn’t even cook that often and I eat wayyy better around her if for no other reason than shame.
Taco Bell. No booze. Overdid it this weekend.
Krist spake it and it was as true. Amen.
Sorry I’m smashed.
Absolutely bent that test over and showed it the 50 states. Winning.
Don’t give me fuckin homework on your comments.
…that….that’s an exaggeration, bud. No way.
Huge test today. Made sure to bring in a pack of cowboy killers because I like a nice cigarette after I get FUCKED.
Here’s a change in tone for you though: this weekend I have absolutely nothing planned, and I enjoy that thought. So much so that I even cracked a smile when it crossed my mind this morning. I will be home with the dog, I will probably spend one evening drinking heavily, and at some point my masochism will kick back in and I’ll go for a painfully long run.
Nonono their Lil Sumpin Sumpin gives me life.
This is possibly the strangest internet interaction I’ve ever had.
I’ll take notes from the guy who’s already winning.
Oh hey, me.
I’ll take those odds.
Sup?
Suuuup
Sup?
Never touched the stuff. My line of work is fueled by pure, unadulterated hate and discontent. So much so that once you reach a certain level, it is entirely possible to be prescribed mild amphetamines to keep you moving.
Me? Nothing but that sweet black gravy of life and unbridled rage.
How I wish my day was full of miller lite.
That your name or your resume?
At three dumps by this hour, it’s more than the coffee.