Happy Boxing Day all you hosers and tea-sipping limeys. Here in America I've been back at work since late afternoon yesterday. Markets may be closed, but I woke up Christmas morning unaided by stims and I chose to head into the office as soon as my family left so that boss man could see me on the cameras (he's been checking those a lot these days but there ain't shit he can do about what he sees) and know how hard I work. There's a dude who "lives" in Jersey and probably sleeps here 5 nights a week, but other than that, nobody else has been around.
Here's my daily rant: My parents raised me right. I had to work hard for my allowance. I got smacked with the buckle end of a leather belt whenever I so much as looked at any adult wrong. Nowadays though, it seems like every parent (especially in Manhattan, Jesus FUCKING Christ) thinks their kid deserves Ivy League admission before they even clean the afterbirth off him. And unsurprisingly, little shits have no consideration for general public, especially outstanding individuals such as myself.
What happened, you ask? Some 12 year old was flipping through pictures of Selena Gomez or some such bitch on his iPhone while simultaneously trying to skateboard, and he cut me off so hard I scuffed the Prada wingtips. He probably weighed 80 pounds, so I ripped him off the skateboard and screamed "Do you fucking know who I am??!!!" right into his eyes. I brought his board with me to the office. Turns out these fuckers are hard to ride.
Since there are no actual deadlines at the moment and I've already crushed the minor stuff I need to do, I pushed a bunch of desks together to create a track for myself. Jersey Boy has his head down in the corner. He thinks if he even looks at me he'll be guilty by association but of course he doesn't want to say anything. I invited him to do a line or two and go for a ride but he just gasped in horror and told me that I better be snorting baby powder. I said, "fine, how about a drink?" but he wouldn't even touch a thimble of Woodford. (I do have a literal thimble that I keep in my briefcase for when I'm just trying to get rid of the shakes or when I want a baby on an airplane to stop crying).
I'll save the story of my family's visit for another time, I've got to put all this shit back how I found it, more or less, by EOD. As for the skateboard, I think I'll offer it up to Mickey, my favorite trash-fire bum, as kindling.
Mod Note (Andy): this post originally went up from the end of December but I just caught wind of it (was off during that time) and knowing how much you guys love FTB thought i'd throw it up on the Frontpage.