I'd just like to say...

(because I have a blog, and Valerian Root makes me a little loopy...I think this might be better than your Xanax, Alex...oh, and because I managed to keep my mouth mostly shut at work for, like, 3 weeks now)

that I think Super Delegates are a crock. Isn't it a little not Democratic to say that certain people's votes count more and could potentially trump our votes...

and that I'm sick to death of grown adults who act like children...

and that I hate, like, 98% of the people at my place of employment (but I didn't major in math)...

and I think it's stupid that grown-ups can't even do the simplest assigned tasks at work (I wrote the number down for you--all you had to do was copy it onto the form!)...

and Fuck teamwork...shit gets done and done right and more quickly when I just do it my damn self...

and that's because 98% of the people I work with are complete and total jackasses disguised as regular human beings...

and Fuck my doctor for thinking melatonin and blood pressure meds would cure my insomnia (I haven't had more than 4 hours of sleep one night in two weeks)...

and that it's 2008 and you should know how to use a damn computer--there's one on every damn desk in this building...

and no one gives a rat's ass about what your kid did at school yesterday...we just want this stupid fucking meeting to end for the love of FSM!

and Seriously? Thanks for the praise, but I didn't build a fucking rocket...all I did to fix your stupid problem was to pick up the phone and dial a number and ask somebody...now, why the fuck couldn't you do that? It's called a motherfucking brain, bitch...use it--I know you have it because you're still fucking breathing.

and Hey, Fatty McFatterton: PS: you're fat because you eat Fast Food EVERY fucking day. Yeah, that's right--I see that Zaxby's on your desk again! I'm not because I had a salad for lunch...so stop telling me it's just because I'm blessed by your crazy Down-Home Baptist God.

The end (for now).