bitches

I’ve been making this threat for years at work but if today is any kind of indicator of the week I’m gonna have, I’m going thru with it. And it’s not because I don’t love my job, cause I do. There are some days when I actually feel bad that the days ending and there are nights I can’t sleep because I’m wishing it was morning already so I can get back to work.

But there are also the days when my abnormally high stress level peaks and my voice drops about fifteen octaves and my eye’s turn the color of raw steak. My patience is gone and I can feel that blood vessel just above my left eye starting to throb. Yeah, that’s when I’m gonna do it.

I’m climbing my fat ass up into the ceiling and after I get all tucked and hidden away behind the tiles and shit, I’m gonna will myself dead. Dead I tell you. I want the MAN to spend time and resources looking for my body. I want to stay dead and hidden for weeks until they notice the smell.

And that’s when my dead rotting bloated maggot ridden corpse falls out of the ceiling exploding as it hits the floor like some huge rotted out watermelon. And I hope that my eyes are open and a smile’s on my bloated dead lips. Yeah, that’ll show em.

But then again the ceiling is awfully high up and you know I don’t dig heights and shit. Plus if I’m dead how can I have or know the satisfaction of sticking it to the MAN? Also I don’t think the tiles will hold me. Goddammit, I guess I’ll go to plan b. I just won’t blink when I talk to people. That’ll show em.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"