Welp...Fuck me, I guess.

I'd like to start with two statements of fact: 1) I fucking nailed that shit, and 2) I'm an asshole.

Should've been hired. Should've been fine dining with my newly raised salary by now, but no. Why? You ask. I'll tell you why. Because of fucking Derek! Derek, for lack of a better term, is a fucking cunt. Pardon me. I'm sorry. I'm not, but I am, if you know what I mean. Because he is actually a bitch with a capital C. For context, here's is my (very apt-and not biased at all) description of Derek: tall muscley guy who wears shirts three sizes too small, always stands with his hands in his pockets, rocks back and forth on his heels so as to subtly thrust his junk in the direction of anyone who's unlucky enough to be trapped in unwanted conversations about his latest investment pursuits or protein shakes, and smells like cabbage farts. I'm not wrong, ask Lenny (my completely unbiased friend who just so happens to not work in the office and has never met Derek). I'm a reliable narrator. You'll just have to trust me on that.

Anywho, Derek got the promotion...Why? Couldn't fucking tell you, but do you wanna know who can? Stanley. Stanley can. Who's Stanley, you ask? Well, if you'd calm the fuck down for a second, I'll tell you. Stanley is the homeless man I vented to whilst not drunk at all waiting for the blue line to arrive. For the record, I'd like to say, that I'm handling this whole thing very well. Anyway, do you wanna know what Stanley pointed out to me when I relayed my woes? Stanley said, "Wanna know what I think?" I don't recall giving my consent for the continuation, but continue he did, saying, "I think you'd be pretty pissed off if I showed up at your house unannounced and dropped all my emotional baggage in your lap, and that's why Derek got the promotion." And then he motioned for me to get off his bench.