Camel Toe.

My boyfriend is not a romantic man.

Fine.

I have no desire to be showered with wilting flowers, or gold rings that will never fit my chubby fingers, or strange clothes that will be splattered with paint and ripped in the midst of a passion-filled-escapade of paint and lust... Sigh.

Fuck it.

I want a man, not a Romeo.

So when Andrew told me that he wanted to buy me glasses for Christmas, I was overwhelmed with the deepest affection I have ever felt.
I can't afford glasses. My shitty job doesn't allow me to dip into my health benefits until six months into my employment (The cheap bastards), and I've needed new lenses for the past two years. I cannot see.

So, in the midst of a very rare love-gossip-fest with another female co-worker (whom I am managing to tolerate for longer than expected) my manager, being the sneaky assmonkey that he is, decided to add in his two cents after hearing about my boyfriend's generous Christmas present.

"Well. That's a pretty shitty present."

Piss. Moan. Mother. Fuck. Shit. Cock. Balls. God. Damn. Bugger. Fudge. Ass. Cunt.Bastard. Dick. Wang. Pussy. WHATEVER - SHUT THE FUCK UP.

I dislike my manager. I think he's a bearded cunt whom wears excessively tight jeans, which make his testicals look like a pair of moose knuckles. I hate him. I hope he dies by the degrading fist of Walmart and ends up in a massive pile of Satanic Turtle Dove Dung.

Either way. I expressed my disliking of his comment by saying, "Christmas is about the joy of love Jeff, not about shitty presents."

I then pointed a giant middle finger in his general direction after he had turned his back.

I hate Walmart and I hate my dork-of-a-manger more, but I really can't afford to get canned.