Got chewed the fuck out today by the evening manager because he tried to call me by the radio phone he was SUPPOSED to give me, but didn’t, then cussed me out when I tried to ask why he couldn’t own up to his mistake of not giving me the damn thing to begin with.
Anyway, I fucking suck at writing, so let me finish this off with my take on a classic poem here:
Clears throat
Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime
That’s why I poop on company time
That was a poem from a simpler time
Now boss makes a thousand, I make a cent
Now I wonder where the money went
In the future…
Boss makes a million, I make jack
That’s when I pitch,
To eat the rich
Thank you for sitting through this craptastic rant/post