rhododendren

an often slumping, with eyes never fully open, person with whom you work, or are friends or relatives with to your regret each and every too long encounter in which you are subjected to the psychotic rantings and daisy-chained delusions of granduer occuring in succession with triggers ranging from sleep deprivation including but not limited to simultaneously being dopesick whilst you are forced to smile and receive the verbal/mental equivalent of excrement at an accelarated rate surely beyond amounts fit to sustain life and you rationalize with yourself in your head committing heinous, unthinkable, unforgivable acts to return to the hopelessly distant peace of mind you wont enjoy for long afterwards, leaving you pulsating with a quiet rage fueled further every day, every encounter, everytime with this person who views the conning of others while keeping expectations as low as possible and procreation as the soundest paths to financial security goverment sponsered or otherwise.
she starts knodding off while making calls from her desk with the phone in her hands like, it won’t start making that jarring sound it makes when it’s off the hook for too long, of course it does and she jolts awake. after this happening 13 times back to back i offer her some coffee, seems like the nice thing to do instead of yelling hey b-tch! if we can’t sleep and get paid neither can you! wake the f-ck up! but i didn’t say that i said the other thing to which she groggily replied. “what, i’m not tired, i rhododendren day.” i said “you did what?” she said “i rhododendren day.” i asked “you rode a d-ck all day? so why can’t you talk? no wonder you’re tired. seriously though, there’s no delicate nice way to tell someone you have to be around against your will that s/he’s a piece of sh-t for f-cking around on the job while everyone else isn’t and shooting up and coming to work like it’s all good and offer to suck d-ck for cigarettes and acting like you have a fraction of the right to have and ego when you don’t because you’re gross, you smell, you talk like a drunken alzheimers patient on your good days, and not one, not two, but three states have declared you as permanently unfit to be a parent/ever have custody of anything you squeeze out of either lower body c-n-l of your and epitomizing/defining/embodying/personifying/mastering/perfecting what it means to be a whining f-cking c-nt. f-ck you jesse