Who you tryin’ to get crazy with, esé?

Insomnia. What a golden gift of goob. Like a world without Stellan Skarsgård, it may seem a candy concept of poetic pathos and manumit minutes. In truth, it’s a little more like this.

With only two hours sleep, I now resemble the Swedish Chef (replete with muppet mullet).

Hurdy gurdy, flip the birdy.

In other news, I think I just crapped my career shorts (and not in a good way, people). My boss just dropped the bomb: in addition to working for him, I must now report to THE BEAST. This devil of diarrhea is news to you because, my work being a veritable vineyard of villains stretching beyond the pen’s decree, I distilled my disillusionment for thee. In chivalry.

But this crop o’crap just grew ripe enough to harvest.

Word on the street: Le Bête has slept with many a management man, the last of which befell blackmail by booby trap. (Ipso presto. Promotion!) What I know for sure: lying in her wake are my corporate counterparts who resigned rather than remain in her employ. That, and whenever we’ve crossed path or proverbial, she’s left me with wind-tunnel whiplash.

Yah! She could use a little passive in her aggressive (to be said like Miss Piggy).

On the manic-depressive upside, my boss is a pretty nice guy! I’ve grown relatively fond of the fucker. Even though, like a pound puppy grown wary of new owners, he makes me nervous. And whenever I speak, he eyes me like I’m Baxter about to poop in the refrigerator.

“Heck, I’m not even mad. That’s amazing!”

The rest of the time he’s Reese to my Ricky Bobby: an absentee father who only shows up for birthdays (performance reviews), bat mitzvahs (Beast behest) or Christmas (Christmas).

So there’s that.

Published by the wuc

I'm a chick living in Australia, working for the man. I hate office work with a passion usually reserved for James Cameron, but somehow I ended up with a career behind a desk, stapling my forehead at random intervals.

28 thoughts on “Who you tryin’ to get crazy with, esé?

  1. Get creative in your quest for freedom from The Beast… put a Tasmanian devil in her locker. Or put testosterone in her coffee and if the moustache doesn’t sour your bosses’ affections for her maybe the ‘roid rage will get her fired for cause. Get jiggy (or wuccy) with it!

  2. I haven’t been here awhile and I think you stopped posting for awhile as I was checking and nothing new…New job? New boss?…How’s it going? Good to see you back again with that hilarious, biting sense of humor! Love the way you handle the difficult, idiotic and incredulous types you have to work with; instead of blowing a fuse you make others laugh…Beautiful! Oh, this post of yours was put up on my birthday, and can I ever relate to the insomnia…Photo tells all!!

    1. Thanks so much, Unsung!! Yes, I grew cold and cobwebby, forgotten in the recesses of my own mind. Hearty apols all round (and round, and round some more) for such screaming silence. I endeavour to be back, proper, thus forth. Thanks for keeping the faith.

  3. A squabble of seagulls, a school of fish, and now a vineyard of villains. Forever a group of villains will be a vineyard for me, drunk on the wine of power with powerful tendrils creeping hither and yither and growing more unruly each year. A philosopher I knew said ‘Know your place or you might shove someone out of theirs’. Well she’s shovin’ Baby Doll and you’re doin’ very well so far by standing your ground. And remember, there’s one in every office – malcontents. They BREED!

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