Confessions of a Rageaholic
The frustration has been building for a little over a week now. The rage is leaking out little by little with each passing day, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside. Though I must say, I'm at my best when I'm angry. My focus is sharper. My productivity increases. My appetite for destruction fuels my desire to be the best; to gain recognition for my hard work. And I work extremely hard.
It festers beneath the surface, driving me to new heights, although it is getting harder to contain my rage. Her unwitting laughter and pathetic cheerfulness in the wake of my frustration is beyond irritating. I'm flexing my muscles of self-control more and more. And I've begun to wonder, how much longer will the dam hold?
I fucking hate this bitch. I disliked her before, but her recent actions have driven me up the wall. I feel the contempt and hatred I feel for her pooling in the upper part of my intestines whenever I see her. There is nothing more that would please me than punching her straight in her smug, Who-esque face. Sometimes in my downtime at work, I fantasise about her failures. Her getting fired, her husband leaving her, her puppy dying. Horrible shit and I stand there with a brilliant grin on my face. Unassuming customers believe that it's because I'm ready and happy to help them. I'm not. I could give a fuck about their grandma's itchy spot they need cream for or that little billy-bob-johnny-frank needs paint for his school project. Get it together people. Your boring, mundane lives are not my problem, so don't attempt to make it one of my problems. But of course, mot of the time, I pretend to be nice and assist them, all while running her over with a pallet jack repeatedly in my head. Would I do it in reality? Most likely no. I don't want to damage the work equipment and be forced to pay for once. Hitting her I could care less about, in reality. But she's a rat-faced snitch, so that wouldn't work out the best for me. I think the only thing that really keeps me from punching her in the face is the fact that if I went to prison I'd have to wear orange and I look hideous in that colour. Seriously, no one looks good in orange. Or yellow.
I'm sick of customers fucking opening things too. They open it and don't buy it, then we can't resell it. The OTC meds, lotions, shampoos, body washes, deodorants, shit like that, once you open them we can't resell them. It's fucking rude. I didn't used to say things to the customers, but now I do. I tell them if they're gonna open it, they're gonna buy it or they'll be thrown out of the store. I've had it way up past my arse with these intitled fuckwads. Wanna complain to my manager? He doesn't have the stones to tell you to fuck off, but I do. I'll even tell customers to put shit back where it belongs, don't just ram it everywhere. There's a proper place for a reason. Put it back or don't fucking shop here. Simple.
I've worked hard. Played by the rules. Done everything right. And what's happened? I get repeatedly fucked over. It's not this old bitch that's pissing me off. It's other bitches too. I think it's written in a woman's genetic code to fucking annoy me. There's no escape from them. This one broad, we were friends, now she annoys me to the point where I'd love to choke her with her too-small panties. Every little thing is the end of the world for her. Maybe if she actually, I don't know, got her fucking life together like I've suggested, she'd not be in the mess she's in. I'm tired of hearing about it. I used up all my fucks and I have no more to give. A lot of her issues are of her own making. If she wasn't out there being a goddamn internet pop tart, then maybe, just maybe, she'd not have some of those issues she wails about. Now, I'm not trying to be mean or unkind here. These are facts. I already know what I'm gonna hear. "My parents didn't love me" Boo fucking hoo. That's the norm for the past 30 years. Doesn't make you special. Maybe they didn't love you because you're a whiny, selfish and immature cunt? I'm just spitballing ideas here.
I don't know what these broads expect from me. And it's always broads too. Well, there was Jake, but he's kind of a whiny little bitch, so he can go right in with the women. He cries enough to be one. Pathetic. All I want is to be left the everlasting fuck alone. Is that too much to ask? Me have a week where I'm not annoyed endlessly? Guess not because the annoyance started at 5:30 am with more bitches asking for favours. I'm not the genie from Aladin. Ask him cause I'm all out of wishes, bitches.
It festers beneath the surface, driving me to new heights, although it is getting harder to contain my rage. Her unwitting laughter and pathetic cheerfulness in the wake of my frustration is beyond irritating. I'm flexing my muscles of self-control more and more. And I've begun to wonder, how much longer will the dam hold?
I fucking hate this bitch. I disliked her before, but her recent actions have driven me up the wall. I feel the contempt and hatred I feel for her pooling in the upper part of my intestines whenever I see her. There is nothing more that would please me than punching her straight in her smug, Who-esque face. Sometimes in my downtime at work, I fantasise about her failures. Her getting fired, her husband leaving her, her puppy dying. Horrible shit and I stand there with a brilliant grin on my face. Unassuming customers believe that it's because I'm ready and happy to help them. I'm not. I could give a fuck about their grandma's itchy spot they need cream for or that little billy-bob-johnny-frank needs paint for his school project. Get it together people. Your boring, mundane lives are not my problem, so don't attempt to make it one of my problems. But of course, mot of the time, I pretend to be nice and assist them, all while running her over with a pallet jack repeatedly in my head. Would I do it in reality? Most likely no. I don't want to damage the work equipment and be forced to pay for once. Hitting her I could care less about, in reality. But she's a rat-faced snitch, so that wouldn't work out the best for me. I think the only thing that really keeps me from punching her in the face is the fact that if I went to prison I'd have to wear orange and I look hideous in that colour. Seriously, no one looks good in orange. Or yellow.I'm sick of customers fucking opening things too. They open it and don't buy it, then we can't resell it. The OTC meds, lotions, shampoos, body washes, deodorants, shit like that, once you open them we can't resell them. It's fucking rude. I didn't used to say things to the customers, but now I do. I tell them if they're gonna open it, they're gonna buy it or they'll be thrown out of the store. I've had it way up past my arse with these intitled fuckwads. Wanna complain to my manager? He doesn't have the stones to tell you to fuck off, but I do. I'll even tell customers to put shit back where it belongs, don't just ram it everywhere. There's a proper place for a reason. Put it back or don't fucking shop here. Simple.
I've worked hard. Played by the rules. Done everything right. And what's happened? I get repeatedly fucked over. It's not this old bitch that's pissing me off. It's other bitches too. I think it's written in a woman's genetic code to fucking annoy me. There's no escape from them. This one broad, we were friends, now she annoys me to the point where I'd love to choke her with her too-small panties. Every little thing is the end of the world for her. Maybe if she actually, I don't know, got her fucking life together like I've suggested, she'd not be in the mess she's in. I'm tired of hearing about it. I used up all my fucks and I have no more to give. A lot of her issues are of her own making. If she wasn't out there being a goddamn internet pop tart, then maybe, just maybe, she'd not have some of those issues she wails about. Now, I'm not trying to be mean or unkind here. These are facts. I already know what I'm gonna hear. "My parents didn't love me" Boo fucking hoo. That's the norm for the past 30 years. Doesn't make you special. Maybe they didn't love you because you're a whiny, selfish and immature cunt? I'm just spitballing ideas here.
I don't know what these broads expect from me. And it's always broads too. Well, there was Jake, but he's kind of a whiny little bitch, so he can go right in with the women. He cries enough to be one. Pathetic. All I want is to be left the everlasting fuck alone. Is that too much to ask? Me have a week where I'm not annoyed endlessly? Guess not because the annoyance started at 5:30 am with more bitches asking for favours. I'm not the genie from Aladin. Ask him cause I'm all out of wishes, bitches.
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