...Not the kind of wheel you fall asleep at...


What I Wish Upon the Lady Who Works With Me and Temper-Tantrums Constantly About Work, Pounding On Her Keyboard Like a Bratty Pouting Child, Spouting the F-Word Left & Right, and Bitching Melodramatically at the Top of Her Lungs, All in an Attempt to Make Herself Seem Important When Really, She is Just an Easily Replaceable Cog

Cancer of the fingers
Cancer of the mouth
Cancer of the f-word
Cancer of the whine
Cancer of the boringness
Cancer of the terrible haircut
Cancer of the pout
Cancer of the huff
Cancer of the voice
Cancer of the spirit
Cancer of the stupid fucking bitchness
Cancer of the cancer



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