Sunday, July 29, 2007

My Desk is Not Your Office...

My desk space is, quite literally, MY DESK SPACE. I am very protective of my personal space and do not enjoy when it is invaded by anyone. I take this as a personal insult. If I can hear the breath coming out of your nostrils, see the pores on your skin, feel any breeze cross my body because of your movements, then you are way too fucking close. It would be prudent for you to ask if you may use a small (and I do mean small-minuscule-tiny-ency weensy) portion of said desk to quickly write something down on a piece of paper. However. My Pen is not yours to borrow. I do not trust that you have washed your hands in the last 60 seconds, let alone at any point throughout the day. I feel safe to assume that anyone that Looks like they do not wash after dropping a wreaking load in a toilet Does Not follow through on any Fast-food joint's urgings that Employee's Wash Hands before returning to Work. Yes, they are there for the employees, but do not think for a second that they are not there to guilt you into being hygienic.

To Clarify: Stay away from my desk you cheese-smelling-dirt-covered-heavy-breathing-stiff-necked-monkey-nut-piss-drinking-liver-lipped-fuck.

The paper, however, is pretty much free to anyone who wants it.

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