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The financial advisor in charge of my father's trust is a mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging, pud-pulling, nut-fiddling, bum-sniffing cretin, and because of his incompetence and blatant disconnect from my reality, I will be living on noodle soup and beefaroni until he deigns to give me money five days overdue.
Dickless bastard.
If I hadn't hoarded my lunches in the paranoid fear that something just like this would happen, I'd be without food for the next six days. Sometimes paranoia is a virtue.
How fucking hard is it to type an email and let someone know that their budget has been horsefucked out of $400 by the vagaries of a panicky Wall Street? I type with one unsteady finger every goddamned day and turn out all manner of written communication, and I'm a withered, skinny-assed, myopic spastic with people skills that would make House either applaud or recoil in horror.
I know my father meant well, but I will never forgive him for putting my inheritance in the hands of soft-handed assholes who've been rich for so long that they've forgotten the terrors of life on the margins.
Dickless bastard.
If I hadn't hoarded my lunches in the paranoid fear that something just like this would happen, I'd be without food for the next six days. Sometimes paranoia is a virtue.
How fucking hard is it to type an email and let someone know that their budget has been horsefucked out of $400 by the vagaries of a panicky Wall Street? I type with one unsteady finger every goddamned day and turn out all manner of written communication, and I'm a withered, skinny-assed, myopic spastic with people skills that would make House either applaud or recoil in horror.
I know my father meant well, but I will never forgive him for putting my inheritance in the hands of soft-handed assholes who've been rich for so long that they've forgotten the terrors of life on the margins.
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