This week, I tweeted about how a fucktard in my office said I dressed in a constant state of grunge because I wear shorts to work. I’m so tired of that battle, I’m not doing anything that outrageous, shorts are part of our dress code, but for some fucktards I guess it’s an abomination. This is what I wore the day pointed me out:

See, nothing bad there. No cut-offs, no fringes, no cargo pockets (these ARE not permitted at work).

After telling him to basically grow up, I referred to him as a fucktard with a coworker who was there when the exchange happened and he started telling me some stories about how much of one he really was. My favourite is one I will call: The Milk Man.

A few years back, before my time in that office, an employee who wasn’t liked much decided to move on to another job and threw herself a goodbye party. She booked the conference room, brought in some snacks and alcoholic drinks for the after office hour shindig. Well, like I said, she wasn’t well-liked and no one showed up except for that fucktard mentioned earlier… And when she asked what he wanted to drink, he replied that he only drank milk, which of course she didn’t have at the party, but found some in the kitchen. About an hour after the “party” started, a very polite coworker came in the room to say goodbye to the departing one and saw, a semi drunkish girl sitting on the conference table with a doofus drinking milk standing by the snack table. She only stayed long enough to figure out what was going on and left…

I don’t think that anyone who goes to a party, as sad as it is, and only drink milk has any right to criticize me at all…

Milk… huh!

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