MY BOSS IS A SMARMY CUNT.

My boss is a patronising hypocrite who thinks that I and my fellow workers are stupid, that we don’t notice him slope-off to fiddle his hours, when he goes to moonlight with his personal new-age health business, where he can overcharge a few dumb wealthy clients with some hand-knitted smelly oils and some pseudo-scientific mumbo jumbo, similar to the impressively empty manager-speak, designed to make him sound like he knows what he’s talking about but which is in reality so much verbal diorrehea. He likes to dish out his own work and make out that he’s delegating some sort of democratic favour, where in fact he’s a lazy, useless fuck and a self-serving, flip-flop wearing coward to boot- hiding in his office and avoiding doing any real work, even when he’s timetabled to do it, making his excuses that he has a backlog of emails to shuffle and statistics to report. He’ll talk to me about co-workers that are ‘problematic’ (bullies  besides himself, and those with poor social skills) as if we are ‘equals’, then he’ll drop in a dig at me, out of the blue- as if he’s trying to be ‘balanced’.  He’ll likewise praise my work or ideas and then do the same thing, presumably to assert his ‘authority’ and put me in my place (while he takes the ‘credit’) . He never catches me skiving off cos he’s too much of an incompetent muppet arsehole, and too easily flattered. He thinks I like him , he thinks I respect him. More fool him, cos I hate the smarmy cunt’s fucking guts with a vengeance, and have nothing but contempt for the middle class prick, who likes to wear designer ‘hipster’ shirts and the latest ‘cool’ retro trainers, he looks and talks like a liberal but acts like a fascist and has a barely concealed contempt for working class people, the homeless or the mentally ill and  is terrified of black people-unless they happen to be proper middle class, female and therefore ‘safe’. I dream of punching him right in the middle of his  smug, smooth, round, muesli-munching face, but have to content myself with the knowledge that there’s a fair chance he’ll get his head crushed under the wheels of a big red bus,with a satisfying popping sound, as he cycles to work …The cock.

 

photoshop politics dylan jeavons