Big Tard Hunter

Every time you decide to pull your partially catatonic somewhat zombie like ass out of bed and face your sure to be apocalyptic day you have to concede that you may have to share the rooms you occupy and air you breath with people that by law shouldn't be allowed to do either. Unless of course those rooms are small, lined floor to ceiling and wall to wall with razor sharp fixtures and filled with noxious gases sure to to cause death or at least human vegetation. Roadkill falls into this category of people.

In an office environment, even one as lax in dress and behavior standards as a call center there are still certain rules and guidelines one must follow in order to keep one's job. Roadkill can not seem to grasp these very basic concepts. He sits between me and the bank of short cubes occupied by our management staff. This positioning allows me to overhear the near constant stream of angrily shouted "counseling" coming from the managers and equally constant disregard he returns. Roadkill is efficient in a full spectrum of failures including the professional; like the inability to document his work and even extends to the personal, like the inability to wear clean clothing and not get hit by cars.

Today Roadkill found a new way to completely disregard common sense, throw caution to the wind and try to get him self fired. While conversing with fellow tards he feigned offence and informed his fellow conversationalists that he would kill them for their beliefs. Now I was doing my very best to ignore the subject of their conversation as I am severely allergic to inanity so I don't know what elicited this disagreement but had I known I'm sure I could have let a single death threat slide, after all condoning threats of wanton destruction would eliminate half of the fun I have trying to get the building a long weekend. No, Roadkill could not leave it at a single quietly muttered promise of personal violence he had to continue, slowly at first, then as no objections came they became more frequent and louder to ice this tard-flavored cake. Soon he is talking loud enough for three rows, including the managers to hear, understand and object. To my dismay no one did and this idiocy continued unabated. Soon he quieted down upon assurance if he did not the solution would involve a HR Ninja strike force, tranquilizer gun and judicious use of the phrase "tag em' and bag em'."

I must say that this solution does intrigue me, perhaps one day when society finally realizes that the tard population has grown to a dangerous size Open Season will be announced and I can begin a new life as a Big Tard Hunter.