There is a man.
There is a man...
Hell, there is a man so cuntfugly that he gives me the ire just to think of him. Him and his 'man of the people' act.
Him and his laugh, so loud it could shatter the souls of the oiks that track him and lean on his every word.
There is a man who doesn't talk to the desk jockeys, he sticks his phone to his ear by way of pretence to avoidance. I wish I had his number so I could cripple his cunting fucking inner ear.
This is a man who promises everything and delivers on nothing, who ogles the breasts of his female colleagues before playing his game of mental jabba-jabba. It plays in his eyes, you see. Because I see.
There is a man, and I hear he is leaving. This sickens me, hurts me, blinds me with rage, because every man needs a nemesis.