Am I Famous Now…

Dearest fucktard fucker egoist colleague,

Both of use have opted to enjoy the secondary conditions offered by our employer. This resulted in us sharing a house. With some more colleagues.
The property our employer allows us to use is decent to say the least and it would cost us lots to rent a location in this town with the same standard.

In our house it is generally known, and respected, that I hardly eat meat. Unless of course you would tempt me with a delicious bison steak, or ostrich baked in a spicy soy sauce, on a bed of china noodles and bamboo sprouts.
Otherwise… you can stick your fucking bacon and sausages where they will come out eventually. Generally simplifies digestion, you know.

So when tonight, after you saw me putting a vegetable pizza, with lovely freshly boiled spinach and Greek cheese, in the oven, you got that sudden strike of genius and decided not to use the second oven in our kitchen, but the oven I was using. The preheated one. The one with the meatless pizza in.
Little did you know what your brilliance would lead to.

Never did you expect, when leaving your wing, on the way to get your fucking lovely oven baked greasy slices of pork bacon, to step in a hot pizza, wearing only a pair of socks. White socks.

I wonder if you slid out. I’d totally have loved to capture that moment on camera.

But you really did consider it case worthy to come knocking on my door and complain? To give me a moral lesson, about poverty and starving people in the Third World even?
Trust me, if I had another pizza and were sure you would send my pizza to Ethiopia or Sudan, to feed the hungry people, I would have smashed you my fucking pizza in the face.
Sadly, I didn’t have any pizza anymore. Nor was I hungry anymore.

I hardly eat any fucking meat and surely don’t want your fucking pork bacon UNDER my pizza in the oven.
Asshole.

Dearest colleague, you are a fucking moron, sir.

Your sincerest,

Franky