2006-08-28 - 8:46 p.m.

STEP AWAY FROM THE MYRA

ADDENDUM: This entry is mean-spirited and awful. The person I run down in this entry has managed to make me like him, because as irritating as he is, he truly means only to *entertain*, and I have been far too harsh with this entry. I accept him now, although he still irks me at times, but just felt it necessary to point out that I was being a total douchebag when I wrote this. That said, enjoy!.

Ugh.

I hate "The G-Man".

In case you missed it, "The G-Man" is an ugly little clown with whom I work. He�s the obnoxiously loud and unflinchingly irritating insect hired to report news in the mornings. Besides being a grating maggot, he�s convinced that sexually-themed wise-cracking is acceptable. I do not like him.

Today he got too close to me, and like Bjork at the airport, I snapped.

The dried up old goat was in here yapping non-stop about I don�t care what. When I realized he was launching one of his annoying monologues, I began to give off very clear �Go away� vibes, you know, not bothering to turn toward him and make eye contact, continuing to type. Alas, he kept on flapping his aged, dehydrated gums, and then stepped it up a notch by sauntering around the counter to the very place where I sat. He stopped directly behind me, with his pelvic region mere inches from my shoulder, and looked straight down at me, talking all the while.

NO.

I wigged. I grabbed my orders and swatted, nay, flailed, shrieking, �You�re in my personal space! You�re in my personal space! Back off! Aaaaaaaaack!� I surprised myself. I felt like I had a bug on me; it was that kind of panic. He got away from me, but then asserted that I �must not be able to have sex" because I won�t let anyone get close to me. I asssured him that it was only he who wasn't allowed to approach, and, being thoroughly disgusted by his predictable (and dreaded) sexual banter, I told him to get out. He ignored me, and kept yapping about me and sex and sex and me and him and sex and his jibleys an sex, so I told him I was going to hurt him if he didn't shake those birdlegs and get out. It began to dawn on him, finally, that I was serious and he said, �Awww, MyraMains, you KNOW I�m just kidding with you!� and I said, �I know that, Greg, but I don�t like it, and if you don�t get out, I�m going to hit you in the face with a stapler.�

He got a defensive look on his face and said, �I�ll never get in your personal space again.� And I said, �Out, yo.�

And he got out.

I got rid of him and threatened his health, but I STILL feel like I pulled a punch, 'cause despite being mean and fed up, I still didn't say all I'd felt, which was: �I know you�re kidding, you jaundiced old bedsore, but it's a chore to barely acknowledge you and I can't do it without wincing. I don't even want to TALK to your leathery hide, let alone allow you to prop your silly ass before me and run your granola hole about your atrophied genitalia. If you choked to death on a clod of tofu, I�d have a fucking party, ass wrangler. Now get out.�

Ok, I don�t really want him to die�but whatever. At this point, nothing makes me feel guilty. He's a purposely grating person. He KNOWS he irritates, but keeps on. He DESERVES to be persecuted. If I have to threaten to pulverize his facial bones with a stapler to get the old fart to go away, I'm IN.

HATES me some "G Man".

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