Angry Inside My Face

These over-paid little bitches that I work with NEED to stop complaining about overtime.
I don't get overtime. Ever.
Would I like overtime? Uh... Yes, please.
But no.
In my bosses infinite wisdom... only the cry-baby assholes get overtime.
The ones that have nice houses and bitch about everything.
Those are the people that he chooses to pay overtime money.
I work with an entire group of fucktards.
Seriously. There are smarter people in the Special Olympics.
The people that I work with complain about the easiest of jobs.
Counting for instance.
If I were asked to come in on a Saturday to count... literally 1, 2, 3, 4 etc. and they wanted to pay me twenty-fukkin-five dollars an hour to do it, would I complain?
Yes, I would complain... if I had been dropped on my head as a baby.

These people are unappreciative bastards.
There are people that have been out of work for over a year in this screwed up economy.
One would want to believe that people would enjoy an extra 200 dollars a week.
Nope. Not these taint-lickers.

So... while I sit here, really angry inside my face.
With my eye twitching and my blood boiling.
I have decided that the only rational way of dealing with these people is to make them appreciate this extra money.
Every Saturday I'm going to show up at work and flatten tires, break windows etc. on their cars.
At least then they'll need the money for repairs.


This is the best way to keep myself from a kinipteurysm.
It's either this, or I'm gonna go postal.