My worklife is a complete fucking mess. First, I guess I should tell you about my new "colleagues." There's the hot chick. This broad is borderline supermodel, yet she is as dumb as a box of fucking rocks. About the only thing she's capable of is checking herself in the mirror and adjusting her makeup and hair. That is literally her entire fucking day. The other one is smart, maybe one of the smartest people that I've ever met, but god damn is she hideous. If the other one is a 10, this broad is a minus 10. Half the time, I'm not so sure that she's even showered, and I damned sure there's no shaving of any kind going on. I'm pretty sure she's a lesbian since she purrs like a kitten every time we go past a fucking hardware store. If these two aren't bad enough, there's the crown jewel of the company--a god damned hippy throwback who is never not stoned. And he insists on bringing his fucking dog to work. Has some kind of a therapy card, so it's covered under the disabilities act. Every fucking day I have to look at this huge dog walk around half-stoned from the second-hand smoke he inhaled on the way to work. Hell, sometimes I even think it’s trying to talk with its constant bellowing. Also, both of them are constantly hungry, requiring multiple stops to McDonalds and Burger King, every single fucking day. So that's my life these days. I drive these fucktards around in a van, and we solve mysteries and [Mark May].