FAO: fat bitter office whale
You know who I am, fat bitter office whale? I'm the tall, normalsize intern girl who can actually wear something less than a size 26 - That's right, the coworker that you have decided to assault with self-righteous, puritanical misbehaviour on a fairly regular basis.
See, I noticed a while back that every time I'd head over to the printer to get my piles of tree-killing waste that could hardly be considered intellectually stimulating work, you would be there gossiping with the "I wish I would've graduated so I could have a real office instead of this crappy desk in the hallway" administrative assistant bird friends, giving me the evil eye whenever you could manage to see over your size 56-DDD fat bags.
Well I guess you just couldn't handle last week when, once again, I happened to look really cute at work. You came flubbing over to the printer as fast as your beached blubber could jiggle itself my way, stuck your face plus sixteen chins in front of me and snipped "Excuuuuuuse me, but I don't think that SHIRT is very APPROPRIATE for the office."
Well, okay then... now, I'm a tad confused. It's a rather nice blouse, and has a sheer overlay over a satin shell underneath, but it's hardly offensive, it's not particularly low cut...and I wore it to work rather often at my old job, at the EMBASSY, and the one before that at the law firm, and no one ever seemed to find it problematic before. I mean, I worked at an embassy for crying out loud. D'ya suppose they'd be concerned about appearances and tell me if it was a problem? So I ask...
"oh...may I ask why?"
You can't just answer me, butterwhale. No, you can't. Instead, your already ugly rumpleface mug knots up in some hideous expression of indignation and you demand to know who my boss is, then tell me you're going to talk to him, but no actually, you're going to get a manager to talk to him. Ooooh i'm scared. Here's my mom's phone number - did you want to tell her too?
Fat office bitch, listen to me for a second. I SPEAK ENGLISH. If you have a problem with my outfit, why don't you tweak your blowhole into position and actually TELL ME what the issue is so I can fix it for you in the future?
Oh wait, I know why. It's because YOU ARE A FAT GREASY CREULLER SHAPED SACK OF BITTER, STEAMING, ENVIOUS SHIT! I mean, I should have known better! Clearly my being able to wear anything remotely cute or attractive would immediately be problematic for someone who hasn't seen her own feet since 1978! It must be difficult, you voluminous meat wad, knowing that on your overly-inflated financier's salary you can still only buy UGLY FLOWER PRINT MUMU BAGS FROM DRESS BARN WOMAN FOR $25 A POP because there IS NOT A DESIGNER IN THE WORLD WHO COULD CREATE A NICE PIECE OF CLOTHING BIG ENOUGH FOR YOUR BREAD BOX ASS!
At risk of ending up on Greenpeace's hate mail list, I managed to refrain from smacking your triple-tiered face so hard it would have gone flappin wildly into next week. However, this is your last warning. Give me ONE MORE DIRTY LOOK when I walk to the printer and I swear to god, I will harpoon you right through your twin boulder-size ass melons that you call buttcheeks and sell your mammoth carcass to the highest bidding candle oil factory.
Have a nice day.