Life is just so DAILY
I did not like The Devil Wears Prada (the book; I didn't see the movie). It's 368 pages of frantic but boringly-written bitching. The narrator pissed me off in a major way, going on and on and ON about how bad her boss sucks, her job sucks, her life sucks, the universe sucks. I just wanted to scream at the pages, "Well effing quit your job, already! I've had enough and I'm just LISTENING to it, so for God's sake, haven't you?"
The funny thing is, I think I might be able to write 368 pages of bitching right now. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'd need about 400, give or take a few depending on how dinner turns out. It's really too bad I hate typing so much, because I think the diatribe festering in my soul could definitely be adapted for the screen, blockbuster-style.
I'll try to condense, if only out of concern for my server's capacity. Dumbasses, bitches, racists, divas, rednecks, inept middle-managers, pageant princesses, forked-tongue Southern-belle wannabes, socially-retarded trolls who refuse to come out of their houses, whiny neighbors who strongly resemble human turds, spoiled 5-year-old rebels without a cause and passive-agressive parents who do that thing when they call you and then go, "Oh, IMAGINE THAT! Hey, honey, guess who I've got on the phone? You'll never guess! It's our DAUGHTER! Fancy speaking to you, ON THE TELEPHONE! I can't even believe it!": suck it.
April
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