girls make passes at boys with glasses (how do you say that in italian?)

i am going to create explosive tampons for all those feminists that fought so hard to get women in the workplace. take them out. take them far away. bring them back to the kitchen. i don't want them. barefoot, pregnant with mouths stapled shut.
my department is all women. 100%. pussyville. clambake (thank you greenie) va-jay jay EVERYWHERE.
i like working with people i can fuck. not that i do or i would. but the energy is better. and guys are like brothers. they don't take offense. they talk dirty. they make christopher walken impressions that are nowhere near accurate.
the women i work with talk about shoes and cake and post it notes. cake. every day. they buy slices of cake and talk about how fat they are getting and i'm just like IF YOU DON'T WANT TO GET FAT DON'T FUCKING EAT CAKE.
they want to get more flowers for the office. i bit my lip because i would of course suggest dead babies instead. or anal beads. UGH I'M SUCH A GUY.
i like farting jokes and boob remarks and shit when i talk about food it better be about enjoying it and not depriving myself of it and then giving anyway just to hear sympathetic remarks from the rest of the office. i think women are petty and passive aggressive and horrifically insecure. not to say gents are insecure. but they just don't bitch about it so much. someone asked me if i worked on a japanese company delegate form the other day and i replied "i don't like asians." they looked at me as if i had said "nigger"
::crickets:: i actually had to explain myself. now this isn't a british women thing, this is a global women thing. there is not one girl i'm friends with that doesn't generally like other girls. we are all friends with only girls that don't like other girls. its an exclusive club. boys only. we're going to make a tree fort and drink beer and wear our boot cut jeans and talk about things like horse racing and self indulgent modern art as per greenie's previous discussion.

men. menmenenenemeneemenenemennemen. please.
if it weren't for mauro, the delicious 4-eyed italian boy in accounts i'd jab my eye out with a highlighter. we send interoffice emails like teenagers. he's the only penis in walking distance (hyperbolic)

tomorrow is friday. which means biscuits day. which means we get an interoffice email at about 15:00 and we run up to the receptionist's desk like 4 year olds and then i get to hear about how they'll make me fat.

i really fucking hate women. shut the fuck up. someone asked me for a nail file yesterday. should i have giggled?