I hate the children of my co-workers.
(Not ‘my colleagues’, incidentally. The Dilbert influence is irresistible).
I have never met them, yet I despise them – all of them – with a malice that would astound and horrify their parents. Were they to know.
Every so often I have to shift from one workspace to another. In management-speak this phenomenon is known as hot-desking. Everyone else calls it there isn’t enough fucking space.
In practice this means I have to use the workstations of people that are off on holiday. For those absentees with families, I find the monitors are inevitably plastered with twee snaps of their gurning, vacuous homunculi. Every inch of beige plastic papered with scraps of celluloid bearing their badly coiffured spawn posed in endearing outfits.
An army of vacant, staring pygmies before me day after day. I find I am seized by the urge to somehow reach into the scenes and mash their rosy wee faces with my fists into a gory chocolate-tinged pulp.
I hate the children of my co-workers.
25-Jul-03 at 9:51 am | Permalink
OK, it is quite American-ised but we can be forgiving this time…
Something of a similar vein.
25-Jul-03 at 12:58 pm | Permalink
I love that site, the second page makes me laugh every time.
On the same theme I’m still looking for the classic site How to hit your children… I actually think it might have been pulled. Let me know if anyone finds it.
25-Jul-03 at 3:10 pm | Permalink
Strangely enough it’s the same site . Oh the memories…
25-Jul-03 at 3:15 pm | Permalink
fantastic, I love it. What are the chances of that, two child-hating pieces on one site.