Friday, August 13, 2004

Fuck you, Friday the 13th! 

What a lovely day.

Vomit-face had to go to a wedding, so she's gone today. One of the other story editors left late this morning. That's awesome. I get to do everything. And I have done everything. I don't think I've ever been this productive at work in my life (save for this current post).

So whatever. Ass-loads of work heaped on me. Fine. However, my cell phone for some ungodly reason has gone retarded. I can't get any tone on it. Which means I can't hear anybody on the other end of the conversation and can't retrieve my messages (at least not until I check the booklet at home that says how to get them from an outside line). So that's fucked. I hate the fucking phone. Inexplicable malfunction. Friday the 13th.

Top it off with this piece of shit happening and I'm just about ready to go off on some dumb ass. Bloody Michael Owen bails on Liverpool on the eve of the new Premiership season for fucking Real Madrid. Oh how I fucking hate that club.

Rumours that Owen was to leave Anfield intensified earlier this week, just days after the player claimed he was 'closer than ever' to signing a new Liverpool deal.

That piss-ant tease. Stringing us along like that. Screw him.

Could you imagine a better way to head into my first full weekend of sobriety?! Fuck all.

Oh, and the icing on the cake? Time cards are late. Will I get paid next week? Hell if I know.

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