Friday Afternoons are Fucking Rubbish

Friday afternoons are fucking rubbish. They go on for bastard ever, and all anyone ever asks you is “have you got anything planned for the weekend”.

If you’re going to waste my time, at least have the decency to do it imaginatively…

Unfortunately the woman who has a desk next to me (I forget her name, but I call her “Elizabeth Duke” because of the astonishing amount of really cheap gold jewellery she wears) is a singularly witless old trout who insists on having these kinds of exchanges on an afternoon. Generally a little too loudly, and over the top of my head to the five bellied fuck pig of a woman (yes, she is a bit “chunky”, seen as you’re asking) who sits on the other side of me.

All this whilst I am trying to work. Those that know me well know that I have the patience of saint, however the constant rounds of “she said that I said that she said that I said that she said” and “I’ve managed to lose 2 pounds in the last six months on this diet! Eh, you never did? I did you know-I managed it by only eating cakes in a dark room where no one could see me because that means they aren’t fattening then” etc is driving me a bit nuts, to the extent where I have tried to put AIDS in their coffee.

“Have you got anything planned for the weekend?”

“Why, yes I have-a home invasion actually. I’m going to break into your house then kill, rape and eat (although not necessarily in that order) your entire fucking family. And I’m going to be dressed as fucking Goldilocks whilst I do it. Or I might finish off my bathroom instead. Or, if it’s nice I might go to York for the day.”

happy days...