Hey, You Don't Have to Be the Biggest Asshole Here

So, I think there is a secret contest here for owning the title of "Head Fucktard."  There exists a vast selection of possible winners to choose from, and I will now elaborate for your morning time coffee-sipping pleasure.

COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE GUY:  Here's a dude that has a) asked me if I'm a "suicide girl," b) tried to touch me on the shoulders behind me, leading me to whirl around and nearly hit him in the face, and c) asked me if I was "going to be going through a lot of batteries" last weekend (wink wink.)  Hey, motherfucker, it's too bad we work in an industry that is overrun by the likes of you and I have about zero recourse.  It would be pretty awesome to see you go down for harassment, but I can't really call it in since I have to tell you to suck a bag of dicks every other day.  Keep your hands off of me, quit telling me I look pretty, and - your worst fault of all - quit ringing my phone the minute I walk in the goddamn door.

OLD DODDERING FOOL:  Here's a jackass that literally does not know where his elbow, asshole, or any other part of his body really is, and there's no need even mentioning that he lost whatever mind he had a long time ago.  This guy will not retire because his wife will not let him.  You can tell him ten times to do something a certain way and he will not only NOT do it, but will bring it back to you, shrug his shoulders and blame the computer, and lay it on your desk.  Also, the shuffling.  Pick up your fucking feet.  Every time you walk down my hallway, I wish for the Grim Reaper to be right behind you.  He's quieter.

LAZY BALD CUCKOLD:  Yeah, that's right.  I just used a term that was first used in 1250 AD to describe you.  Not only are you loathsome to look upon, your demeanor is one of namby-pambiness and your shoulders could not stoop any further inward unless someone was repeatedly hitting you in the chest with a brick.  You continue to work here alongside the guy that banged your wife right out from under you.  You never once tried to shove his face in the dirt or threaten to shoot them both.  If you ever even tried to hold a gun, it would most likely break your hand off from the weight.  You are also a lazy motherfucker.  You will not go above and beyond for anyone at anytime - which more than likely speaketh volumes about why your wife started sleeping with someone else.

Last but not least, SANCTIMONIOUS COWBOY: Jesus Christ, look at this guy.  You have a 'stache that rivals Yosemite Sam and if they would let you wear a 10-gallon hat to work, you would.  Your jeans are crisper than an early fall morning, and it's a good thing you work out.  I wouldn't know what you would do if your bird-like legs were any smaller.  It is amazing you have gotten as far as you have, not only based on your looks but your attitude.  You act as amazing as you look.  You are as full of yourself as Hitler, but much less of a badass.  I like being able to order you around, if only to watch your face not really know how to do "crestfallen."  I have hated you for 13 long years.  Your boots and belt fill me with fury.  Go read the Bible or something, but get the fuck out of my office. 

Today is the Day I Might Kill the Receptionist

...was I so angry this morning upon walking in to see her horribly vapid face that I forgot the Sweet n' Low in my coffee?  And why the fuck is my boss not responding to my "Spicy Hot V8 Emergency" email request?  Unbelievable.

Look, I usually don't act quite this indignant.  I assure you, however, THIS LADY IS INSANE.  She is a shrill ridiculous harpy that somehow fills me with venom at the sound of her voice.  She squeals out of joy or pain or if she makes a whoopsie.  She is unable to give people directions, even though she has worked here for 11 years.  She confuses "Bryan" with "Brandon" and refuses to actually look at a directory in order to pronounce names correctly.  These drawbacks, in my opinion, make her a terrible receptionist.
I took a picture with her in it at a company function one year.  She was furious and told me to delete the picture, which I did.  She has not spoken to me for 2 years. She has had open screaming matches with her adult children IN THE LOBBY.  These children that she is apparently so fond of receive a phone call from her every morning upon her arrival at her desk, whereupon she asks them if they are going to have a wonderful day.  I can only imagine what goes on in the poor grown child's head: "Sure Mom, my day has started out miraculously just because you've called."  I was getting coffee one morning when I overheard her tell one of the kids, "Don't let anyone take your joy."  Whatever that means, I am pretty certain she is the #1 source of joy drainage in their lives.

So, Dear Lord, Dear Baby Jesus in the Sky that Makes the Magic Happen and Makes Food Grow and is Somehow Watching Over Everything We Do, please avert your sweet Baby Jesus Eyes while I more than likely throttle this woman directly on top of the granite reception area in our lobby and beat her senseless with either the handset or her time/date stamp.  When I am done, I will puncture her neck a la Godfather III with her glasses, and cover her in Styrofoam coffee cups.

Sorry for the ultraviolence, Oh Holy Ghost and Baby J, but it's been a long morning, I need more coffee and my contacts are making me want to throw up.  So really, Hosanna, in all your forms, I beg for your all-forgiving mercy.

Bitch, don't you page me one more time.