I haven’t done any conversating* with Cartman posts for a while. Part of the reason is that now that we share a cubicle, my blood pressure is so high that I can’t conversate* over the sound of roaring blood in my head. And the other reason is that I have finally made her shut up. Finally. It took 18 months and a very serious complaint to Bosshole, but Cartman stopped bothering me. Well, she stopped talking to me, but I have a feeling she will always bother me. Today I overheard this little gem:
Cartman: … it will make it go more smootherly. Um, more smoothlier.
I hope she didn’t hear me laughing at her. She has a language all her own. It’s making me wonder if she has a learning disability – and if she does, I will stop mocking her. No I won’t. Who am I kidding?
I only highlight the fun stuff here, but she talks and talks all day long. She asks questions and babbles incessantly until I want to stab myself in the eye. I’m not sure even my screams would drown her out.
This week she couldn’t figure out how to attach a file to an email. No, I’m not joking or exaggerating or lying. She couldn’t drag the file into the email, so I told her to attach it. She told me she didn’t know how. Anyone who has worked in an office for more than 10 minutes should know how to do that. It’s BASIC. It’s not some secret, high-tech magic that requires special skill. You don’t have to be a NASCAR driver to put your car in gear, do you?? Well, in her case, she should probably stay off the road, too. She should stay in a locked sound-proof room far away from me.
She didn’t speak to me today. At all. I think she’s under orders from Bosshole not to even look at me. This was the best day I’ve had in months.
And that brings me to another mini-rant. I’m sick of people who think they know me better than I know myself. This is for the whole world, if all 6 billion of you are reading this: STOP TELLING ME WHAT I ACTUALLY MEAN. I’m guessing that if I took the time to choose my words, then I picked the ones that best represented WHAT I ACTUALLY MEAN. Fuckers.
Which brings me to my list of favorite expletives, which includes but is not limited to:
- assbag or assclown
- faggot (shut up. It’s okay if I say it because I don’t mean fag. I mean stupid. But stupid isn’t as fun to say as faggot.)
- sons of bitches (my father taught me the proper plural)
- ass (sometimes jackass)
- the word fuck, in all its glorious variations, including fuckadoodle and bah-humfuck.
I feel better now. Cartman is silenced and I got to yell at the world for telling me what I really meant to say. Only I forgot what they said I meant to say, so I said this instead. Hope you don’t mind, but if you do, you’re an assbag.
*Conversate is not a real word. Do not attempt to use in casual verbal encounters.