welcome to your thursday beatdown boys and girls. there's been an abundance of candidates worthy of the old kendo swipe to face this week; my supervisor as always, that cheeseburger that gave me heartburn, residents of massachusetss and so forth. so here are this weeks recipients of karmic justice in the form a wooden stick beating. prepare to get FACED! cock-wookies:
IT guy with shit eating grin- you've managed to do it yet again you verbal toilet.
me- why am i not getting any spam emails?
IT guy- i put *fart* a filter up so you won't get them *fart* anymore.
me- oh, thanks. (now i know his intentions were of the best, but spam email keeps me occupied. how else am i suppose to find out how much i could be saving on my long distance plan or what new miracle pill will cure prostate inflammation? besides, we all know that the road to hell is paved with "good intentions")
IT guy- no *fart* prob, what are *fart* friends for.
i could see the poo juice dripping down his chin through that smarmy smile. i think there's a video on the internet starring him titled "1 IT guy, 2 cups". what are friends for? friends drive you to the airport. friends buy you lapdances and jaeger shots on your birthday. friends offer to put their finger in your ass when your stressing out in the bathroom while experiencing your first bout of performance anxiety (i owe you one Paul). friends don't strip you of the only reason you check your email. FACED! this kendo sticks for you, you fucking ass-rat.
stall talking co worker- as talked about in the post below, i believe that you only get a good kendo stick blow to the knuckles. you FACED! yourself enough by accessorizing your shirt with that skunk-shit tail.
my urine- what the hell is your problem this week? you keep smelling like steamed vegetables. am i sleepwalking and eating broccoli patches at night? you should be smelling like you normally do, of coffee, jameson and self loathing induced erectile dysfunction. get it together pee. the last thing i want to do is kendo stick my own balls. i pay vietnamese hookers to do that for me.
the dude wearing the banana suit outside jamba juice who would not take "no" for an answer- look man, i don't want to try the new doucheberry smoothie. oh! you claim its really good? you like it? because i wanto to be just like you. i have a hard enough time getting laid, so i don't need to be talking to a 6 foot banana in broad daylight. it has a new vita-boost you swear by? well then, ill have the 16 oz. doucheberry smoothie, with a celibacy-boost and a shot of zero self respect. and what the hell, toss in one of those pretzels covered with total faggotry. you take debit cards right? the last kendo stick of the day is for you my struggling art history major.