New Job: Day 4

Day Four

And I made it to my holiday weekend. Thank mother fucking God. I’m sorry, excuse my French. Thank mother fucking Chanel. And thanks to some woman named Susan, who gave Big T a break and showcased some fucking personality up in here. Up in here. And a big shout out  to some additive into my Bigby that may or may not have been a derivative to Addy. Or heroin. I used a Barbie pen and wore a sleeveless LBD as my interpretation of “dress down” day. Apparently the true meaning was the men’s medium extra small man-ish polo shirt. Some girl with a substantial gut came up to me and stated she was not a dress kind of girl and should have ordered a bigger size in her men’s medium extra small shirt. The thing is, she said this with straight up attitude to me. Hey bitch, sorry you are hefty in the gut, I don’t wear pants because I’m Pentecostal. God damn, this shit is boring. When can I open my faux drawer and sell some God damn Chanel shit. I’ll sell some counterfeit, just to sell. And smell Chanel. Faux or not. I’m jonesing for a sale. And I am jonesing for some Chanel hard core. Or a god damn old fashioned bank robbery. Dear Chanel, it’s me Margaret, please let branch 36 get robbed. By Colonel Mustard, with a candlestick, in the God damn bank library.  Hey Big T, is there a bank library? I wasn’t paying attention during that chapter because I was drawing kitties saying, “Meow”