Have I told you about the freak opposite me at work?

There are a couple of panes of glass, a brick or two and one landscaped bush that keep us apart. Thank fuck. Lets call him Frikkie.

I hate this dude. He is tall, skinny, and speaks loike vis when he are in my company. None of my female friends want to come visit me at work anymore because when they do, he instantly appears out of nowhere and stands at his office door staring at us. The minute they leave, Freakazoid comes over and wants to know who they are, where they work and if he can have their number because he ‘just wants to be friends wiff’ them.

You know that type of guy who sits in the corner of a bar with his beer belly popping the buttons of his shirt, slumping over the bar stool, hands swaying the almost spilled cheap beer while he talks in between bits of peanuts flying out his mouth, one eye closed in his desperate attempt to focus on the mooi cherrie standing next to him, pretending not to notice while she waits for her drink? Frikkie reminds me of that image every time I see him.

If he comes to ask me ‘eef he can asseblief borrow a smoke’ one more time I’m going to kick him in the nutsack. Borrow! BORROW! I don’t want the bloody thing back after your lips have dribbled all over it, you moron!

I need to get out of this place. Now. And fast.