What Sort of Low-Rent Asshole Doesn’t Wash Their Dishes at Work?

There is a special place in hell for these cock-gobblers. Sure, go ahead, leave your filthy, crusty, sneeze-covered dishes in the public sink. Some poor sap will do them, eventually. You are much too important to do your own. Fucking pigs. Swine, all of you. Probably the same mutherfuckers bitching about people on welfare, bailouts, and labor unions. There are a couple of people in the office who take it upon themselves to do what others feel beneath them. Good deed aside, I wish to hell they wouldn’t. Rather they should allow the funky dishes to pile to the ceiling and breed mold, mildew, roaches and Mormons. Until it becomes so bad that we ferret out these low life pieces of shit and administer a little street justice. The first perp who gets caught is stripped down to their skivvies, has trash dumped on their head, stands on a desk while people circle all their fat with a black marker, then made to get on all fours and “walked” around the office on a leash. After this throw the person head first through the giant glass window in the center of the office where it is a 10-story fall into a glass-ceilinged atrium. Maybe they live, maybe they don’t? But guess what? I guarangoddamntee you no one else leaves their dirty fucking dishes in the sink. I firmly believe that in order to make an omelette, you have to crack a few eggs. This isn’t about mere dirty dishes festering in a sink. It is about much more, the decay of a society as a whole. You let people leave their dirty dishes in the sink at their leisure and what next, gang rape in the coat closet? It is a slippery, slippery slope my friends. Speaking of the coat closet, some asshat leaves a filthy, sweat-soaked sweatshirt they wear as some sort of base layer when biking in every morning, in said closet all day which stinks up all the other garments. It is that pungent, all-encompassing smell of sweat which has dried and then been re-sweated many times. Exactly like a vagrant smells in August when they hit peak ripeness. Were these people raised by wolves? Chicago is positively blowing the rest of the country away in murders, so why can’t these people be cleansed as well? In my opinion leaving dirty dishes in the sink and stenching up the coat closet are on par with, if not worse than, trying to muscle someone out of their heroin-selling block, no? I don’t care to live in a world where people are free to leave their dirty dishes in my office kitchen with impunity. Probably don’t flush the toilet after they take a dump either. Actually, don’t even get me started on the bathroom. Fuckin’ Wild West in there. If an industrial toilet rejects your offering, it is high time to review your diet, bandejo.

 

 

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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