2012 is year of the tiger. Wanna know why? Cause I'm going to scratch it's fucking eyes out. I'm going to call it year of 'le tigre' and use a Mexican accent while I kick it's ass for twelve whole months. Think that's racist? Think again hombre.
In 2012 I'm not taking shit from anyone. If you've got something to say to me, it better be important. And you should probably make an appointment. But you better bring a magazine, cause you better believe I'm going to keep you waiting.
And if your appointment is re: my fingernails then you best keep moving or you might find yourself on the receiving end one of my bloody stumps in your eye. Be glad I don't find your face as appetizing as my fingers and shut your hot-dog hole.
In 2012 I'm not going to cry even once. I'm removing my tear ducts and replacing them with real ducks. Then if I feel sad I'll just punch them and they'll quack and I'll LAUGH.
If I get a single yeast infection this year I'm going to tear out my vagina and put in a mini-mall. End of story. I am the boss of my ladyparts and they will not cross me.
I'm going to stop apologizing for my phone being dead all the time too. Chances are I wouldn't want to talk to you even if it was on, so you can just go suck rocks until the battery is charged.
Right now I got to get back to being the boss of this office though. Probably use the paper cutter a bunch. Yell at the space heater for being shitty at its life. Maybe turn on the lights cause it's getting dark and I'm pretty close to the light switch. Bring it the fuck on 2012.
