May 17th, 2007

goonies, die


I don't normally submit to the evil of the letter-style rant, but today I am in the mood for it because, well, it seems like the most graceful way to put this.

Dear Fucking Fuckwad of Flaming Fuck Who Can't Fucking be Fucked to do his Fucking Job,

Fuck you.

There we go.

This is not work-related, this is apartment-related. Let me just say that this Jeff guy? Not the brightest or sharpest crayon in the box, and it's getting to the point where I think he may have melted a little and be stuck to Burnt Sienna by now.


I would explain in more detail but I think I've already used my allotment of fucks for the day. I might have to go take some out on loan from David Mamet.

In other news, I kind of want to start keeping track of dreams a bit more. I have always known vaguely that my dreams are more complex than most peoples, but I didn't realize to what extent. So I feel like I need to try to record them better. Also, you guys will all see that no, I don't always dream complex plots.

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