TWENTYTHREE MINUTES HERE

1 08 2006

So tomorrow might be ‘S’ last day serving the company. All I can say is, I felt so sorry for him. Bitter too. I bet there would be more smoking-cigarettes-partay in the maintanance room tomorrow.

Die, my dying heart. Die…

It’s amazing how some multicolourful-people can change their facade on time, go around the office, backstabbing the weakest ones in simple seconds. Then escape the horrible sentence, unhurt, just because they can speak English language more correctly and in a so fake “Englishman in New York” accents.

Though I can bloodyfully understand why he was given such treatment due to his frequent laziness and shrinking-responsibilities habits. But hey, give that kid a room for error and improvement larh.

U can’t be expecting him to change instantly right? We are not filming a maggi-mee mini adverts here or watching a drama of a smallfry been run-down by some perfect master of hypocrisy.

We are here to help. If u’re here to help him as well, HELP HIM SINCERELY.

Don’t suka-suka create your own pattern that all Bangladeshi are expandable – U like, u keep. U don’t like it, u kick and get a new sidekick to kick again on his fatless-hip.

Fuckfuckallsefishretards!

Though most of the Bangladeshi may look similiar from the outside, but that doesn’t mean they carries low-class blood and bones underneath their dead-skin cells.

These Bangladeshi are just like anyone of us here. Have-feelings earthlings and sometimes quite an evil-monster. And they do too have the same lunch-time dreams of floating castles – TO GET RICH. Just like u and me.

So before I miraculously insert high performance, synthetic gas into your bladder then explode it one by one, please give some real motivations and have faith in him, and thou shalt be bless and shalt not be forgotten.

Goodnight


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