"The brutal facts are :
So I responded with...
A bleak sense of my own place in this universe, stuck somewhere between Milhouse and Paul Giamatti in his more hopeless and hapless roles.
And he finished with...
My world, everybody...
It’s growing ever clearer to me that people are bastards. The little things. Just went down to the kitchen in work, and there’s a lad at the sink washing his cup or something. I greet him warmly, “how’s it goin?” - the way you do.
Fucker just scowls at me and looks back to the sink.
Such things bother me. After the vulgarity of the Christmas Party and subsequent fall-out, I’m typing up a code of conduct.
I’m just fucking disgusted by the behaviour of certain people.
Lads, look after the young ones. Don’t go making them cry. In fact, don’t go getting them drunk and then making them cry. If you do that, you are pond life. Make no mistake about it.
Is there no chivalry in the world? Is there no sense of decency? Jesus, is there no respect?
I’d rather see a drunk girl safely home of a night than try to capitalise. Maybe it’s just me, and fuck knows I’ve had the nice guy tag thrown at me forever, but I don’t care. In a selfish way, it’s all about feeling right in my own head.
How lads can brag about picking up this girl or that when she’s totally incapacitated with drink is beyond my ken. Where’s the gratification in that?
Who are you trying to impress?
And don't be a cheat. And don't be a coward. And you know who you are. And you're a fucking disgrace.
There are ways to treat people, and I’m beginning to doubt that anyone else gets it.