Self-Destruction in NYC

When I say those words, I say them with every last ounce of passion that I can possibly emit through a keyboard.  Every single person who works at my massive company is a fucking douchebag.  I do not want anything to do with them.  I curse the day I signed the form that committed 3 years to those fucking faggots.  Every day I wake up dreading the day.  Every weekend I thank god I don’t have to go to work.  On a friday evening like this, how am I supposed to shed the 10 ton weights I carry all week long and instantly turn into a fun person again?  Each week they drag me down harder.  When I’m finally free of this job I’m going to kiss the fucking sand like Kevin Costner in Robin Hood, give that wretched building the middle finger and go fuck myself.  I don’t care if everyone I know calls me a deadbeat asshole who thinks he can make money on the internet.  Nothing could be worse than this existence.  They are slowly working their tentacles into me to turn me into a god damn robot.

You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis. You’re the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.

Everyone at my office is a fucking idiot.  If they’re not actually IQ level stupid, then they’re an even bigger idiot for working in that dumb fucking corporate ladder structure where they suck their boss’s nuts all day long.  It’s not a ladder, it’s a fucking circle jerk with everybody’s mouth on each others’ taint. Fuck them.

I will conclude with a song.

A cadillac drives down my street
A bead of sweat pourin slow down a palm line.
I see a bumper sticker
it’s a bearded man with a wanted sign.
A myth we’ve made to scare out fears away
A slogan that we slap on all our misdirected hate
A muddy symbol meant to mitigate our pain
But it’s really just a desert corpse
We’ve painted on the wall out in some cave.

Anyway…
I don’t know where he’s gonna park that thing.

My neighborhood drunk’s on-line at the deli
with his shaky hands and his swollen face he waits for his coffee.
He blacks out curbside every night
and every day crawls back towards wall street.
So I don’t see it like it’s us and them
I just see everybody working for that same eternal weekend
Droning on and on and on and never doing what we wanted
Heavy legs two steps behind some forever dangling carrot.

and I’m tired of this
So who’s to say that we can’t just fucking change it?

and I know it seems dramatic
but I treat it like a crisis
The office to the coffin
All our time and talent wasted
and that weight against your throat
is that a noose dressed like a necklace?

From here I couldn’t really tell the difference
either way I say let’s not take any chances

cause I don’t know where he’s gonna park that thing
Well I don’t know where he’s gonna park that thing
No I don’t know where he’s gonna park that thing

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corporate ladder, corporate whore, fuck this job, fuck this place, I want to shit on my company logo, i'm so fucking glad it's friday, If I get another peppy email from corporate I'm going to throw up on myself, somebody's bitch, work sucks