Chronic Fatigue Syndrome?

I run when I hear them.

Executive types striding with a sense of purpose, Neanderthals with swollen testicles and square jaws staring at their Blackberries as they rush from one meeting to another, behaving as if they are the saviors of the world, convincing themselves they are number one.

Alpha bitches making a racket with their “fuck me” 5-inch stiletto heels, heads held high, snooty noses in the air, exuding the musky smell of expensive perfumes, strutting off to the next big deal, tight little butts with visible panty lines gyrating in your face, semen-filled desire-inducing bodies screaming out for attention,

Endless meetings, endless conference calls, mindless discussions, training sessions that go on forever, foreign talents with attitude, senior execs who are absolute retards, superiors who hand out the choicest assignments to their favorites, bosses who lie, selfish bastards who only think of their own careers, USP, KPI, ROI, pain points, price points, customers’ “compelling reason to act” and all that stupid crap.

My heart is heavy and my body is tired.

My body aches all over.

I don’t want any more of these anymore.

I want all these behind me.

I want to lay my head down and sleep.

Forever if possible.

And they’re selling next year’s diaries already.

Fuck the world, I want to get off.

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