Every day I wake up at four in the morning and I take a steel bucket and fill it to the top with cheap cocaine and I stick my head in it as far as I can and inhale for ten minutes. The timing is important because if I do it too early it’ll wear off before I clock out of the office and if I take it too late I won’t pass out in time to wake up the next day and do it again. Oddly enough this is what makes me appear normal while I walk around at work and pretend to be doing my job, but nobody suspects that all I’ve been doing is filling out all of those forms with the exact same numbers five days a week for the past four years. The company’s way of managing information is so fucked up and complicated that it doesn’t really matter what I write down because it’s the job of three other cunts to correct any errors that I or any of the other six guys who have the exact same job as me may or may not have made. As I sober up on the way home on the freeway I often think about my bosses wife and how I’d love to throw buckets of coke at her and pretend she’s an invisible super hero in the snow while we have sex in my studio apartment. I’ve never been coherent enough at any of the Christmas parties that I’ve seen her at to know how she actually reacts to the sight of me but I do know that as I see her while I’m high on my daily bucket of cocaine I have hallucinations where in she’s winking and smiling at me and letting me look down her shirt while her prick of a husband yaps on mindlessly about what he plans to do on his next paid vacation, which he never follows through with. Fuck you, Jim. This is my letter of resignation.
My Interests
Your girlfriend.
I'd like to meet:
Your crying, drunk, junkie, sexually confused, self-abusive relatives.
