You Sweet, Sweet, Humans

We're all a bunch of God-damn trash bags.


You sick person. I'm sick of myself. I loath the machine, and our race that runs it. Everybody is okey dokey. Just blow that smoke right into that child's face. Smack that bastard silly for talking back to you.

Hey, get your ass to work everyday. Oh, you wanna cry about it? Change your life then. Oh, you have no idea what to change it too? Neither freakin' do I. Who the hell are you talking too.

Yeah, why don't you talk real loud on your phone while I work at my cubicle. My desk is behind a door in an office. This area isn't even supposed to be used for desk space. Come tell me what I need to do. What the hell is up with Audioblogger, that shat has been down for a couple days now. Who the hell runs that thing. One mistake, and now he/she totally sucks. You friggin' trash bag human waste. I'm sickened by you picking your nose on the train. All my best hours are wasted, doing a job that I enjoy, yet it still steals the best hours from my life. So, I resent it anyways.

I planned this trip, and now you don't want to go? We'll find out what this is all about. I want to collect them all, and eat it through. Sit, and think. Then I get bored. Need something new. I'm leaving early today from work. They suggested it. I leave in 15 minutes, to mingle with all the other animals.