I work with a bunch of useless bottom-feeding shitheads. These junkie mouth-breathers couldn’t think their way through a recipe for boiled eggs. One of these fried dogs is so fucking brain-dead he only wears slip-on shoes presumably because the prospect of having to tie a shoelace would see his cognitive machinery immediately sieze, and decommission the cooked unit entirely. Having to share the air over lunch with the likes of these reptilian imbeciles is about as much fun as a fork in the eye. A coherent thought might be more readily elicited from a common farm animal. If you’ve ever wondered what became of the neanderthals, I found them.
Posted in Workrant.