It's too cold in here. My feet hurt. Is Friday ever going to come? I don't get paid enough for this job. Is someone eating something with garlic, because I'm allergic to that.
If only your whines were fine wine and your moans were a sharp cheese and the shrill sound of your voice were a classical quartet, then my day would be bearable.
What's all that supposed to mean?
I thought it might make me feel better to tell you to shut up in a poetic way.
says: