Help me out please. I need an idea of how to exact my revenge without getting arrested.
I’ve worked at this piece of shit company for a little over a year now. I was hired to do HR work and instead I get to do bullshit secretary work. The execs at this place are all chauvinistic pigs (I wasn’t aware of this when I accepted the job) and have spent the last year showing me exactly how little they respect me.
First my ideas were dismissed. Then I was ignored. Then I was really ignored. Then my ideas were stolen. Then I heard I wasn’t taken seriously because of how I dressed (and no, I don’t dress like a fucking hobo). Then what few HR projects I had, were given to the finance guy (cuz that makes perfect sense). Then I was regarded as the office whore (which is not legit).
Of course I’ve done the obvious and gotten a new job. However, I decided to man the fuck up and finish my two weeks (regretting it as we speak).
So in my last two weeks of hell how can I get back at them without anyone knowing?
Really fucking pissed off in Wyoming
There is no more powerful (wo)man in the world than ONE WHO HAS JUST TURNED IN THEIR RESIGNATION. Who the hell you gotta impress? It’s the one chance you’ll ever have to rain truth bombs all over that shithole you invested ALL THOSE GODDAMNED WASTED YEARS on.
What? You walking gingerly to get yourself one a them there precious referrals? Only a true ASSKISSER would finish that shit quietly. SPEAK SOME TROOF!
Yo, Indian guy in IT. You’re supposed to EAT THE CURRY, not slather it all over your body like you’re turning yourself into a walking homage to Ganesha’s asshole. If I have to smell your ass for one more week, I’ll never fucking eat tikki masala AGAIN!
Gary, in sales. When you laugh, it sounds like two elderly porpoises fucking. Seriously, I can’t UNDERSTAND why your wife just divorced your ass! I’m gonna have nightmares the rest of my life where I hear your laugh, have Vietnam-like flashbacks, and wake up choking the shit outta my girlfriend. If I could have the part of my memory that contains your fucking laugh surgically removed with a fucking chisel, I would.
Sue, you fucking cunt. You know why people don’t get more shit done around here? It takes TWO FUCKING hours to do anything, and 1 hour 45 minutes of that involves you standing at their desk bitching and whining about it. If you really want to increase productivity, you’ll spend that time licking your own asshole. That’s a more productive use of your jaw muscles than having to sit here listening to your whiny fucking voice. Your ass really needs to get laid. I hear Gary’s available.
HEY, FAT HORNY GUY. You know when we’re on the elevator, and a pretty girl steps off, the doors close, and you nudge me and say “did ya see that?” YOU FAT FUCK, you are WAY too fucking sexually excited to be touching me right fucking now. Now I’m gonna have to break into the cleaning closet and wash my arms in fucking BORAX just to rid my body of your festering pheromones. We both know you’ll be in the bathroom tugging your puny little pud in five minutes, and that’s cutting it way too close in the time between your hands touching me and your hands touching your dick. Keep the masturbation fantasies to yourself, motherfucker! If you can’t, then go tell ’em to GARY.
And you, Fred. You’re the worst of them all. I started listening to death metal at my desk because it was the ONLY THING POWERFUL ENOUGH TO DROWN OUT YOUR OBNOXIOUS VOICE. And I FUCKING hate death metal! I hate death metal more than anything and everything in this world except for the sound of your voice, so it was an easy decision. I suggest you get yourself a horse muzzle and strap that shit on, for always. There is nothing worse in this here life than overhearing a conversation between you and Gary. Between your voice and his laugh, I fucking swear a vortex is gonna open up and suck this whole company down into the fire of fucking hell.
And I don’t wanna be here when that happens, so that’s why I’m resigning.
Now leave me the fuck alone.
Dear Murray a tasty, tasty bitch beloved and feared by hordes of basement-dwelling illiterati and their fierce antagonists, the Grammar Nazis. He single-handedly turned the webcam whorefest of Myspace into a lively commerce of ideas, including whether or not the TUBGIRL photo will ever be topped as a postmodern expression of the inexpressible. According to web historians, he has inspired more photoshop projects and syphilis jokes than Britney Spears (who he has been repeatedly linked romantically to). He is also rumoured to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, a disciple of Cliff Yablonski, and the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Although he could not be reached for comment, he reportedly resides in or near the tent cities along the LA River Basin, third right after the walrus sunning station.
He has vehemently denied all charges that he is any any way responsible for that rash your wife claims "is from the heat".
His primary function is doling out advice; the inspiration sprang from an endless and eventually dull repetition of fucktards failed to heed his words.
A secondary result is a dysfunctional family "round table" of people who contribute innumerable one-liners and personal experiences, rarely related in any way to the actual question.
It is estimated that tens of thousands of readers have "LOL'd" approximately 5,395,645,694,167,467,105 times, with the toll expected to rise.
He is immune to kryptonite, chlamydia, and brainwashing.
Wikipedia has banned PENCILTITS's entry, debating the relevance of his tasty bitchiness.