13 May 2009
Your Misery is Not Good Company.
An open letter to the cranky middle-aged weirdo in the office.
I'm sorry you hate your job, your wife, your kids and (from listening to you bitching day in and day out) pretty much everything except fantasy baseball.
We work in a tiny office space so my headphones will not drown out your random yelling outbursts at the aforementioned job, wife, kids etc...
Your misery is now my misery.
Oh wait - actually I'm not sorry.
I need you to please become medicated, quit or find something else that will make you not here.
Oh and if I were you I would also consider tightening the fuck up.