June 30, 2005


My Project Manager, Mr. Dick Head ( names changed to protect privacy ) would be asked to resign from his position tomorrow, after another disappointing year for the company, the stock holders co-workers, and juniors. Thereafter he would sign the papers, and then beg at each cubicle on his way, for a hundred years of rape, muder and documentation.( He's British, and I like Scotch, hence I found a link with Braveheart ). That afternoon the mortgage on his home will default, and within hours of losing his job, he would lose his house. His wife, ( who is an amazing lady, don't know how she got stuck with him) would divorce him in the evening and get the custody of the children, after his coworkers and colleagues dissect his personality in court. ( not bitching like mean women at lunch ). When it starts getting dark, he would go to the beach to find some solace, but lightning would strike him while masturbating on the beach. Finally at night, he would be caught by gays, who would bisect whatever's left of his balls, for shouting anti-gay slogans at the Mardi Gras. While escaping from them, he would be caught by the cops, for stealing his own car, where he would spend the rest of his day, kneeling, weeping, crying to his holiness ( yours truly ), for emancipation.... I know that can happen, and I will forgive your sins my son, if and only if you promise me, that I am not doing any more fucking documentation for the rest of my fucking life.

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