Ms. Boss Man.

I don't like you. You make my insides crawl.

I can't decide if you really are innocent enough to ask a fifty-something-year-old man why he constantly asks to, "see you in shorts all the time," or if you are just playing your virgin cards in a very, "I want to be a slut, but my heavenly father won't let me" sort of way.

I hate the way you say you, "don't want enemies," but turn your nose up at the "lesser workers" when we walk by you each day. You're silly and stupid and are complete shit at your job. But of course, that's not your fault... You weren't trained properly. We all know how difficult it is to pick up the insanely awful and difficult concepts of condensing freight and stocking shelves. Dear me, you poor child.

I loathe the way you sit in your car during your lunch breaks to listen to the Christian Choir hour and I despise you for making us listen to it while working in the back room. There's no room for God in the workplace. There is nothing heavenly or humble about working at Wal Mart. They opress and condemn the human soul and you have helped to enslave that spirit by pressing your Jesus Freak lovin' ways upon us all.

I had a relationship with God when I was twelve. He molested me and now I'm trying to get over it, so will you please fuck off with your almost sincere, non-cursing ways. They're giving me a headache.

Does it bother you that I don't respect you? I imagine it should. You have no control or authority over me and I will never work hard for you. I do not want to see you succeed, or be an accomplished Wal Mart associate. I want to see you suck. Suck on the giant, proverbial God penis that is constantly stuck in your ear while trying to be a high and mighty christian in our Satan loving society.

Fuck You.

But seriously, I'm doing you a favour. One day you'll thank me for being judgemental enough to assume that I know what's best for you. There's no future in working as a Wal Mart rat. We need to get you a real job.

Pass a ticket out for God, child.