Terrorific! Not content to rest on his laurels eating his delicious roasters, The Gambler apparently has spawned twins and found time to give Burt Reynolds a run for his money. Maybe a Cannonball Run 4 for his money? I don't think Dolly would want to be islands in the stream anymore.
WHY I NEED A RICH HUSBAND OR A TRUST FUND (god damn poor parents)
As if the placewhichmustnotbenamed could get worse...well nevermind it could get worse I guess if I shared an office with a flatulent born-again Christian who listened to Stryper and communicated via babytalk on the phone to her boyfriend/pastor/dog/cat/mom all day refusing to do a lick of work but still loved by boss--who will herefore be referred to as Khan (with a nod to Genghis and the hoard).
"Yes mistress...I love these vials of shit you give me each day as sustenance. Thank ye!"
Now I am charged with the planning and implementation of a major special event which must be a success or I WILL LOSE MY JOB. This is what I was told VERBATIM. I would expect this out of some ballbreaking Wall Street firm or high-pressure sales job but why am I developing stress-related diseases over this fucking shit? As if I don't have enough to do besides manage stay-at-home bitches (oops I mean the gala committee), grovel for money all day, develop cystic acne from the phone glued to my face, raise thousands of dollars, write letters, grants, repel odioius co-workers, fend off one lecherous 80-year-old board member with teeth like a cro-magnon Austin Powers, and manage pr for the agency. All this for Bob Cratchet-like wages. I am the modern-day Oliver Twist. Please sir can I have some more?
1 comment:
Am dying. We need to win the frickin lottery and get the hell out. I would volunteer somewhere nice. I wouldn't just sit on my butt EVERY day. Maybe we should start playing - I bet it would make our chances of winning better. You think?
Post a Comment