Santacon 2011

I was rudely awakened out of my deep tumblr hibernation due to a very ugly seed that is beginning to grow from the depths of my workplace. And it’s called sexism. Combined with that, let’s throw in some ageism, too. Because there’s nothing a 50 year old business man likes better than a young ass woman telling him what to do. 

Before I go on, I will preface my rant by saying that I usually don’t voice my opinions on such things. As a woman, I don’t feel the need to turn a spotlight onto this type of social stain - we all know it happens, and I’m no spokesperson. But I am so disgusted by what I am experiencing that I need to vent. Can’t a girl get her Dear Diary moment?

TODD is a 50-something who was top rung on the ladder before he was laid off at his previous job. He now works with me. He has 30 years of experience and I’m not doubting that he knows a thing or two. Some of his work has been quite good. But TODD is the most arrogant human being I have ever met. He does not listen to suggestions, help, or criticism. He completely disregards his department manager and kisses bossman’s ass. And he treats me like absolute dog shit.

“Young lady, young lady, young lady.” This is what TODD calls me. Yes, old ass man? Yes, you old ass ugly piece of shit excuse of a man? I politely inform him of mistakes that he has made on his work (as I cannot complete my job unless his work is correct). But, goodness, I must be mistaken. I’m talking about TODD here! TODD never makes mistakes. I have no idea what I’m talking about. Please, TODD. Tell me why the sky is black. It looks blue to me, but that’s just the musings of a young silly ass girl.

So of course I have to tell the manager, Steve. And once Steve explains why his mistake is wrong, it’s “OH OK. WELL IF IT WERE UP TO ME I’D DO IT THIS WAY BUT I SUPPOSE I WILL CHANGE IT,” over and over and over again from our good buddy TODD.

Did I mention that TODD has a thickass black mustache and is balding except for a monk-style ring around his thickass head? You need more of a visual.

So while TODD tells me that I’m anal, equates me with Hitler, “I DIDN’T KNOW MEGAN WAS GOING TO DELEGATE AROUND HERE,” asks me repeatedly how long I’ve been working here, calls me a slacker, asks every 5 minutes how far along I am with completing his jobs, LIES about mistakes he has made and tells others that it is ME who made the mistake, throwing me under the bus, he does that TUUUUUUUHHHHHHH TTTUUUUHHHHHHH wheezing laugh, slapping me on the arm and TTSSSHHHHH TSSSSSSHHHHing in my face. “YOUNG LADY, IF IT WAS UP TO ME, I WOULD DO IT THIS WAY. BUT WHAT DO I KNOW I’VE ONLY BEEN IN THIS BUSINESS FOR 30 YEARS TTTUUUUUUUHHH TUUUUUUUUUHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

Did I mention that TODD wears short sleeve button-up dress shirts every day? And his head is connected to his back in one single curve, like a C?

I don’t even want to spend another paragraph on this piece of shit man. If he gets his jollies by stomping on a young girl who is getting paid ten times less than he is, doing a completely different job than he is and is no way competitive or threatening, then I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for him that he cannot own up to his own mistakes and his only way out is to lie and blame it on me. He’s a sad, pathetic man. It’s not enough to excuse his behavior, don’t get me wrong. My only consolation is that his ugly ass name is TODD and he will die a sad, pathetic man.

Fuck that guy.

Sleep.

Hi all.

I’m still here.

Post TBA.

slaughterhouse90210:

“Well chaps, first I’d like to say a few vile things more or less at random, not only because it is expected of me but also because I enjoy it.” 
— Donald Barthelme, Snow White

Hammond, the archduke of nowhere, the king of nothing, offered the bottle of wine to Clarissa a final time. She, having drank almost half the bottle herself, politely refused.

“Certainly,” Hammond hissed, as he corked the bottle with a pedophile smile, “you shall join me in the boudoir.”

Clarissa, naive and maybe partially deaf, answered with a drunken nod. Hammond wasn’t rich by any means, but the way large, intimidating words rolled off his tongue held Clarissa in, and being only eighteen, she was bound for rebellion and poor decisions.

As Hammond helped her up the stairs, he poked his majestic tongue into Clarissa’s ear. She very much disliked the gesture but was too drunk on circumstance and wine to care.

Hammond entered the bedroom first and with one fantastic flourish, his clothes dropped to the floor and his hairy, white flesh came into view.

Clarissa burped and stumbled in after him. She yanked off her shoes and shirt but gave up on her jeans and underwear, leaving them to bunch around her ankles. Hammond sat on the edge of the bed, his balls resting on the bare mattress. He watched Clarissa struggle with her bra while he idly picked at the bottom of his foot.

Out of breath, she collapsed next to him, her bra still fastened by one metal loop. 

“Let me get that for you, my darling.” As he leaned in, he exhaled in her face. His breath smelled of cheeses and garlic, an aphrodisiac, he claimed. She reeled back in shock and felt tangy spit begin to gather in her mouth.

“Oh!” Hammond shouted, leaping up from the bed, his flaccid penis swaying. “My lady does not care for the sweet smells of my exposed flesh! Very well then,” he said, lifting Clarissa off the bed. “Allow us to freshen up.”

Clarissa stood against the bathroom door frame, jeans trailed behind her like a shadow. Her bra hung sideways over one shoulder causing one whole boob to be exposed. She watched as Hammond’s naked body urinated in the toilet. He shot her a raised eyebrow, as if to suggest something but she turned to look at herself in the mirror instead.

Hammond gave his penis a shake and flushed. He sauntered over to the shower and turned the faucet on. The spritz and rush of the water gave Hammond a sudden excitement. He pulled his body over to Clarissa and extended an arm toward the curtain.

“A shower, for my little dove.”

Hammond helped her out of the rest of her clothes, letting his idle hands grope and grab and they saw fit. When she was as fully naked as he, Clarissa, after some time, met her eyes with his. She grinned and tried in soft whispers to tell him that she didn’t bring her makeup bag, or any new clothes, or her hairdryer. Hammond rested his arms behind her neck and leaned in.

“My lovely sparrow, my succulent flower. I’m sure there are ways of making your hair hot enough that it will dry.”

Clarissa immediately retched in his face. Hammond, with the patience of a lioness, helped the girl step into the tub, only closing the curtain halfway. Clarissa closed her eyes and let the spray pummel her head and back. She slumped her shoulders and dangled her arms at her side as the rhythm of the water lulled her into a drunken daydream. For a short while, she had convinced herself that she was back in her dorm room. That her nice clean bed would be awaiting her. But she opened her eyes to find the nude flesh of Hammond, aggressively shaking in front of the sink.

Hammond’s arm moved like a piston. He swiped the moisture off of the mirror and leaned in so close he could kiss himself, continuing to brush his teeth with such vigor that the foamed toothpaste splattered all over his reflection. His cheeks were flushed with foam spittle and his chin looked as if it had sprouted a sloppy, white beard. Hammond stuck his eloquent tongue out and scraped it raw. The slimy toothpaste dripped down onto his chest and belly, matting the hair, running past his naked penis and onto his wiggling toes. His eyes widened, staring himself down in the mirror. The sound of a speeding steam engine, the push and pull of the brush, filled the tiny bathroom. It grew louder and louder, faster and faster. Hammond’s body shook with such violence that he grabbed onto the counter to anchor himself.

Clarissa caught his eyes in the mirror, the only feature visible through the condensation. Hammond winked like an old man as the the steam fogged them away again. She reached for the faucet and turned the shower off. The water ceased instantly, save for a few droplets. The brushing intensified.

Clarissa peeked back out of the curtain to find Hammond leaned back, head toward the ceiling like a laughing madman, gargling and spewing the foaming mess out of his throat, out of his mouth. The spit flew into the air and back down onto his face, his hair, onto the walls like a murder scene. He shrieked. A man turning into a werewolf for the first time, by the full moon on a crisp autumn night.

And then it was silent.

Hammond extended his arms with a slow grace, head held back, eyes closed. His toothbrush concerto was complete.

Hammond dropped his hands onto the sink and breathed heavily, wiping away the steam to look at the shower. He stared at Clarissa, her arms folded, dark eye makeup melting down her cheeks.

“My sparrow,” Hammond wheezed. “My sparrow.” He lifted his head and turned suddenly around, thrusting the toothbrush at Clarissa.

“It’s your turn.”