like it's not bad enough to have to work for a living. but to have to stare at this all day? >>>>>>>>>
and then it really tops that proverbial cake with the cherry-tinted thought of having to race in this concrete jungle just to get to the door, after you have been eyed up and cat-called for the past 2 miles on foot, in your push-up bra and heels.
as if i am not already upset about having to sit on my ass all day long in a fluorescent-lit environment, but now I have to hear you sigh, belch, and see you play with your frizzy hair all day as you contemplate banging your head on your keyboard. that is quite unnecessary.
as is your howard stern lookalike bit you have kept up. why? save your plight for the moments alone in the bathroom; those times in the mirror when you look and just want to scream - go ahead, scream away.
and while you are at it, tuck in your shirt, and zip your fly you sad excuse for a business man. you and your beaten up briefcase - i have seen lizards who have gotten run over by a Yugo look better than what you carry your alienware laptop in.
anywho, back to menupages, to figure out whats for lunch.