destruction of my sanity lead to destruction of my bosses new chair.
I had to let it all out, despite wording this like an orangutan withdrawing from bananas and crystal meth, equally addictive substances, It's worth piecing together.
Stephen king may not be asking me for writing advice, as he's off his tits on cocaine, and because I'm not the best at writing.
But its the effort that holds the emotion. And I'm not only saying that cause I'm illiterate.
A wise man once said: ''Willy get the fuck away from me before I slap you silly''
Willy is my boss, who has a problem relating to his hygiene, or lack thereof.
The wind did not sweep me off my feet, but the stench travelling within that wind most fucking definitely did.
Recently penis found what he calls ''A revolutionary solution to morning showers''.
Oh did I say penis, I meant to say Willy. Silly me, whoopsy fucking daisy pudding and pie.
I think he's found what others call ''early onset dementia'', he hasn't found the power switch to his shower, though.
An alpaca high on stimulants could come up with better ''solutions'' than this absolute nutcase of a unicycle riding braincell deficient clown.
There's not even a circus, he's a clown for the pure joy it brings him, and misery it brings others.
''Just use a baby wipe on your body, it'll take only a fraction of the time of a shower, yet is equally effective''
Effective at what, Willy? Ensuring you stay a health violation in the form of a human?
A fraction of the braincells you have, is still fucking 0, multiply them by 100x and you get 100 ones less than 100, or simply put, still fucking 0.
Not to be rude willy, with a small w as its more fitting to describe the small w willy you have, but I could refer to you ''Phallus'' or ''Dildo Baggins'' or ''Dan the Dick Detective'' and I'd technically be correct.
''How dare you call me.. what I am'' Yes willy, there's no escaping it, you must embrace your true self, even if that means embracing being Spencer the size unfortunate specimen.
The smell lingering in the break room after you curse it with your presence is genuinely the only scent that perfectly imitates what depression feels like.
You enter, yet never fully exit a room. Always leaving an everlasting noxious gas which permeates through every surface in a 20 mile radius.
I used to be a heroine addict, but one full inhale of your armpits sends me into a state of bliss unmatched by any other drug, its similar to laughing gas in the way it evaporates braincells to give a high.
Before a new PR lift rather than using bath salts, I utilize your egregiously repulsive human host in which you reside.
It's genuinely diabolical that a human is capable of making such gut churning car exhaust resembling fumes from their ass and mouth simultaneously.
Willy, or phallus as I prefer, you emit a sea breeze, if the sea had been used as a nuclear weapon test site.
Even a skunk would be fucking envious of the musty, dusty and death inducing smells your ass produces.
The spoiled and festering chicken in my fridge could be considered cologne when compared to your black mold farm of a skull, the walking dead is living atop your bald spot, rick grimes only left his grime and ran away with the rick.
You harness the smell of every shit filled diaper currently residing on earths surface with the same efficiency a solar panel harnesses the suns energy.
My Psychologist diagnosed me with ''inhalation of willy the wheeze inducing smelly wanker disease''
I didn't even question it, the idea you hadn't spread a disease to me would be the thing I'd question.
In my desperate attempt at avoiding the repulsive pellets of pure misery and agonizing despair exiting your mouth and entering my now clogged arteries, similar to how you clog every toilet unlucky enough to encounter your fiber deficient ass, I dove in the opposite direction.
I felt like michael jackson, sliding past the bullets of smell. But a machine gun cannot be avoided for long, so the moonwalk I performed as my next missile dodging tactic, had abruptly ended at a wooden box.
As I inspected this box more closely, I realized this wasn't just any box, it was a coffin.
I jumped right into the coffin, glad to finally escape the sensory overload which was my life.
The same way a marathon runner who weighs less than the average humans right testicle jumps in the opposite direction of a gym containing weights.
''Is that protein?? get it the fuck away from me, muscle will weigh me down''
He has a point, although I'm not sure it'd make any measurable difference as his weight couldn't go down much more before entering the negatives.
Similar to willy's IQ, 140 they told his parents, forgetting to add ''minus 90, plus 5''
55, in other words, which is also the amount of times I've dreamt of being a skydiver without a parachute, due to working with Willy the 90 less than 140 plus 5 iq baboon McGee.
How on earth your filthy, grotesque, vile, decrepit and decaying ass has been put in charge of managing anybody, is a mystery that even Sherlock fucking Holmes himself couldn't solve.
Managing to wipe your own ass after a crap would be a first, yet alone managing an office.
''What a curious case, it appears this man met his fate while attempting to flush the toilet for the 20th time in 15 minutes, causing the handle to snap off and go flying toward his head, this didn't do any damage due to his skull being so immensely thick, but as he celebrated the lack of injury, he lost footing and plummeted head first into the toilet bowl.''
Luckily being the ''manager'' means managing the hundreds of chrome tabs full of nsfw bullshittery on your monitor 23 hours of the day.
That 1 hour remaining is spent on your second monitor, not in reality, in case anyone assumed William the willingly witless wanker had reserved 1 hour of his day to being a functioning member of society.
A functioning member of the higher than ever before male loneliness statistics, he's the cause of 98% singlehandedly, and single relationship wise, obviously.
I pissed upon your office chair, Will' thelordtakemeplease.
But I now realize that was a step too far, as the only steps I should be taking are ones that lead me away from you and you.
I said you twice, as I'm sure you consider the ghastly cloud of fecal matter you call ''natural scent'' to be an entirely different person.
You may be correct, as I wouldn't be surprised if this invisible to the eyes but blatant to the nostrils companion has evolved the capability to beat your own ass for creating it.
But William, despite your willingness to withhold your Willy for 19 hours of the day, I cannot in good faith, or any faith, or any fucking thing at all, consider you a good boss.
I say this for two reasons, which I will fully detail below.
1: Your head and asscrack share braincells.
2: Your asscrack and head share braincells.
Call me straightforward, or call me a victim, both would be true.
A victim of you, and straightforward in the sense of the boot heading straight forward to your ass.
Only that may be too far, a kick in your ass also means a kick of your head, since they both seem to share the same space.
As gnarls barkley once said, ''Does willy have the right?''.
I'm unsure what word he said next, but this sentence looks complete to me.
anyway short story long, It was me who damaged the chair.