Fuck you work for yanking my chain.
Fuck you work for making me believe that I would finally get a chance to be on air.
Fuck you work for not having the decency to tell me to my fucking face that I would not.
Fuck you work for letting me do 10 hours of overtime this week to do this story.
Fuck you work for letting me write it.
Fuck you work for letting me do every interview.
Fuck you work for getting to do three hidden camera sessions.
Fuck you work for making me track down people across the whole fucking continent to talk about counterfeit DVDs.
Fuck you work for making me think that you actually treated people with respect.
Fuck you work. I’m gone by the end of the year.
Wow. That’s just bold.
Yeah, move that date up. It’s still January for God’s sake.
Fuck you, work, for …
Sometimes commas are needed.
Fuck, you work?
I stay at home, myself.
Okay, September. I’ll be gone by September. I mean, I do have a wedding to plan and pay for this year, so I’ve gotta take some time to set my finances in armored order, ya know.
So, who’s this fuck you work for?