ohne mich

I deserve an award. I deserve to be showered with roses. I deserve to be so filthy rich that I can have my whole driveway full of different Koenigsegg models. Why do I deserve all this? Well... this morning I've been doing other people's jobs and I've done it fairly well.
Of course I won't get my award, roses or cars. I'll get a "thank you" and then my amazing skills will be forgotten until the next time something fucks up and people start yelling at each other.
H2 started a monologue about how this kind of paperwork isn't our job and I told him, quite pissed of the whole thing, "imagine someone telling me off about this". I'm not scary, I'm not terrifying and there's not a chance in hell that I can make people quiver from fear - but I think that even the most cold-hearted person would take a step back if he or she started yelling at me and wanted this done. (I had to promise H2 I'd call him so he could hear it if he wasn't present.)

It's almost dinnertime. I deserve that aswell. Flowers are pretty, but food is orgasmic.