Annoying Is...

Annoying Is...

Annoying is going to work at Wal*Mart every day.

Annoying is working with really bad, fucking stupid, awful and demented people every day.

Annoying is telling your boss that the really bad, fucking stupid, awful and demented people need to come back to the toy department, 'cause the ten massive skids of toys that are teetering inbetwen the isles are not being touched, because the really bad, fucking stupid, awful and demented people are too busy talking to FASHIONN LADIES about some god-awful stupid bullshit that doesn't matter, while you work your ass off in the TOY DEPARTMENT, WHICH IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORE and having him say:

"MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS."

fuck you. fuck you. fuck you. fuck you. fuck you.

"But I need help."
"Why don't you worry about what you need to be doing instead of what other people are doing."
"But... I am worrying about what I'm doing, because I NEED HELP."
"You should mind your own business."

Are you not grasping the fundamental message of my problem? I NEED HELP. Should I light a flare? Or perhaps I should write an SOS message on the floor with the blood of the really bad, fucking stupid, awful and demented associate whom is going to die by the hands of my uncontrollable temper if you don't DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT, you useless sac of toy-train shit.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

That pounding in your skull isn't a headache. It's your stupid button being pressed repeatedly by the devil himself.