fuck this job.com

You, yes you. Your last name rhymes with that of the great Captain Picard, but that's all you have in common with such a great man. You have more in common with the nastiest, most trashy whore in the all the long history of whoredom. You are, quite simply, the Gaping Vagina of Upstate New York.

You E-mail me that one of the mouth-breathing idiots you're trying to hire is having a problem. I'm in a good mood today, so I immediately (fucking IMMEDIATELY) drop what I'm doing, which is very important, and implement a fix for your problem. This is a several-step process, requiring me to check the source-code out of the control, revise it, test it, revise again, load test, upload, and recheck-in. A normal IT department would simply throw this problem on the big heap of paper-slips labelled 'Bugs' and ignore it for weeks. Instead, because I'm feeling benevolent today, I fucking fixed it for you in ten minutes.

A) That's talent.

-and-

B) Fuck you...

... Because, not five minutes after I send you my customary, "I just fixed your problem, sorry for the inconvenience" E-mail that I send to everyone after I fix their problems, you have to send me this lengthy fucking diatribe, explaining to me in your little, "I've been suckling my parents' money-teat my whole life" subset of the English language that it wasn't YOUR problem I just fixed, but rather a problem that a prospective employee was having (because he's an idiot...).

So, a problem that cost me ten lines of source code and a one sentence E-mail now forces me to read through your two paragraphs of mouth-feces, just in case there's something pertinent in there. Instead of just fucking saying, "Oh, thank you Mike" or, if that's too much to get around your mouthful of caviar and your father's semen, just simply DOING NOTHING AND STAYING FUCKING SILENT, you have to lecture me on semantics, because of a stock phrase I send to everyone after I fix their problem.

So yes, fuck you for all that.

And then, fuck you again, because I replied to your little nasty-gram with one of my own (bet you're not used to the hired help having copping an attitude with you. Bet you're also not used to the fact that the hired help makes more money that you're whole, stupid little office), and you thought you'd go to my boss, The Man, and try to cause some shit for me. Because you're that much of a pussy, you're such an anti-man, hopped up on estrogen, that you can't come to my face, and deal with our differences in a man-to-man fashion. Instead, you have to go weeping your bitter little, womanly tears to The Man, to try and "get me in trouble".

(I bet you weren't counting on the fact that I'd already done damage control, called him, told him what you said, and what I did, and then told him how we got complaints about you not following up on leads. I bet you weren't counting on walking into THAT phone call. Did you know I was on the other line the whole time? Silly pussy, don't play man-games if you have a uterus).

Now, I don't want to imply any misogynism here -- although I compare you to a woman, in reference to your complete lack of common, masculine traits (a spine and a penis being two big ones that come to mind), I really don't mean it. I mean, I can think of four women in my office right now who are better than you in every possible way. And at least one of them could kick the shit out of you two -- probably two of them.

All I really mean to say is... you're a fucking waste of life. There is no reason for you to exist, at all, and if you were to just poof and vanish in a little, entropic cloud, nothing and no-one would care, except your trust fund, which would be lonely without you. I wish I could kick your ass... that like, one day you showed up at the office, and like, slapped me (open handed, of course, because you suck), so I could unleash wave upon wave of punishing destruction on you. The whole time I've been writing this, I've been visualizing beating you with a chair.

You suck, and you're getting fatter, and you're STILL not making any money. You will NEVER live up to daddy. Shit, the poor bastard probably wishes he'd just bought a fucking poodle instead of having you, as even a fully frumped, polished and perfumed poodle of the female variety is more a man than you'll ever be.

Salutations, pussy.

~Mike XXXXXXX, Director of Information