January 25th, 2016

Poutrage is your word of the day.

I have once again made the mistake of thinking I could use the break room without being irritated. And it's all Michael Bay's fault.

Apparently, the teabaggers who infest our break room, even though they work downstairs and ought to stay down there if they're going to spew out their usual poutrage, all took it upon themselves to see the cinematic diahhrea that was Michael Bay's movie about Benghazi. Even the goofball who works behind me had to go see it, and felt the need to turn his crappy hip hop off long enough to gibber about it.

Not that these ignorant twits need an excuse to rail about BENGHAZI BENGHAZI BENGHAZI, mind you, but a feature film sure helps. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that they're more likely to take a Michael Bay film at face value. These are the mental midgets who actually believe every single thing that Sean Hannity tells them every morning, which I can't help but overhear en route to my bench.

I... just can't win. Thanks to Michael Bay, I had to hear their usual rants about Benghazi and Emailghazi and Oral-Sex-In-The-White-House-ghazi, and somehow didn't murder anyone with my bare hands. Which is truly remarkable, since I managed about as much sleep as I figured I would (i.e., not much), and my patience for retardery is pretty low. I suppose they can consider their continued life functions a gift from me.

Even if it's not a gift to me.