Oh hey look it's Friday

TGIF?  Whatever.  I still have to work tomorrow, as I'm sure many of you do as well.  It's amazing how little of a fuck you give about the weekend when the weekend just means another day.  I think I'm on twelve in a row now.  Maybe thirteen.  Or fourteen.  Hell, I can't remember.  And I don't see another real day off coming up for some time now.

You wanna know why Trump won?  Because after working two or three weeks straight, people like me look at the spoiled rotten, entitled, whiney fucking snowflake crybullies and say "Whatever I can do to piss them off and make them FUCKING MISERABLE, I am going to do it."

"WHAAAAAA, I NEED MY SAFE SPACE!  WHAAAAA, I NEED GENDER NEUTRAL RESTROOMS!  WHAAAAA, YOU'RE A RACIST ISLAMOPHOBE!  WHAAAAAA, WHITE PRIVILEGE!  WHAAAAA!"

These pampered pimples on America's ass don't have the first fucking clue about what it takes to actually keep this country running, but they're more than happy to shove a fucking wrench in the gears just to prove how oh-so-fucking virtuous they are.  I want to give them all a hug.  In the face.  With a fucking crowbar.

I was gassing up on my way home from work this evening, when I saw what I thought was just about the picture-perfect representation of a Progressive shitwad.  He's that guy who pulls in at the wrong side of the pump.  He's got the hose stretched out as far as it can go so that he can pump gas on the wrong side of the pump.  His door is open.  He's on the phone, ignoring everyone around him.  He's not fat, exactly, but he's a plump little fucking dumpling with a gut and a physique that says he's never done a day of hard labor in his life.  His hair looks like he's never used a comb.  He's got Washington D.C. plates with an "Elizabeth Warren for Massachusetts" bumper sticker.  People trying to leave the pump have to honk at his fucking ass so that he gets out of their way and closes his door, which he does with an snotty look on his soft, fat fucking face.  And I swear to you, I fucking SWEAR to you, that it took every last bit of self-control I had to not grab my tire iron and beat the ever-loving FUCK out of this slimy, greasy, unkempt, snotty, arrogant, self-absorbed fucking parasitic genital wart.  Just for the good of the country, because there's no fucking way in hell that worthless fucking shitstain contributes ONE GOT-DAMMED IOTA OF WORTH TO THIS NATION.

Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe he's the male version of Mother Theresa, with his pants sagging off his ass because his gut is forcing them down and he doesn't have enough muscle tone to keep them up.  But I'm willing to bet my entire day's paycheck that he's just another ProgNazi, Hillary voting, Marxist parasite.

I need more whiskey.  And a day off.  Eventually.  Some day.