Why we drink

Found this over at the Armorer's place, and had to pass it on.

We drink because if we have to endure one more Friday afternoon meeting, we might just projectile vomit in Kevin's glandular, gnome like face. Just because you don't have a life doesn't mean the rest of us want to sit down at 4:45 on a Friday to discuss the company's direction for Q3. You see Jeff's left eye twitching? I'd give this meeting another 3 minutes before he reaches across the table and pulls one of your ears off, Kev. The man's in a custody battle for his children and you're taking time away from his weekend with them because you're a selfish, horrible man. And if Kevin does blow, you can bet your ass Mitch, the North West sales manager will. I swear that guy starts off cooking some chicken by biting their heads off. Do you hear his unending finger tapping on the faux-marble table? Notice how the pace quickens every few minutes? Well Kev, you've got a few more seconds of being a bullsh1t blowhard until Mitch pulls your heart of your f'ing chest.

We drink because there's no such thing as a good week of work.

We drink because there is no such thing as a uni-sex bathroom. It's a girls bathroom people. You wonder why us guys leave the office at least twice to three times a day, not including lunch? It's because we have to shit, and we can't very well sh1t in that veritable Globe Theatre of a restroom, where every sound is amplified ten fold. The one time I just had to go (note to Jessica, now that was a mission critical decision) and simply couldn't make it to the hotel across the street (those people must have caught on that I'm not staying there, considering they see me every day) I took a sh1t in the uni-sex bathroom, and what ensued was an anal-philharmonic, led by yours truly, in which the entire office was privy to every fart, grunt, and bowel-related sound effect I had to offer. I felt like taking a bow when I got out, possibly chugging some coffee and going in for an encore. So no, it's not uni-sex, it's a girl's room. You might as well stick a huge tampon on the door with a note reading 'No Y
Chromosomes allowed'. Oh, and Regina, I salute your utter shamelessness when it comes to sh1tting. I've never, ever seen a women carry the paper under arm when she walks into the bathroom. Truly, classic stuff.

Good stuff.