Those of you who claim you love your jobs are sickening me. Seriously, get in the game. Work is not your friend. Work doesn't offer you a beer when you get there. Work might seem cool, but it talks about you behind your back and it told me the other day that your girlfriend is a whore. Work sucks.

Maybe when I get there tomorrow my boss will tell me that we're opening a new division on my couch and that I'm head of operations. Maybe he'll say they no longer require my services but due to the fact that the payroll lady is mildly retarded, I'll still be getting paid. Maybe then I could begin to understand those people who talk about their fullfilling careers like they've cornered the market on sunshine and are just waiting for FDA approval before shitting it all over the rest of us. Maybe.

Until then I don't want to hear any more about great work environments or growth potential. The tumor on your brain has more growth potential than your lame job.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go to bed so I can get up early and go to work. It's free breakfast day and if I don't beat Nora to the danishes there'll be nothing but cinnamon raisin bagels left. I hate cinnamon raisin.