I Hope You Die

I was just watching the Simpsons, and I heard the best line ever. I'm adopting it for use at Ford. Hell, why not work it into this entry? Anything is possible.

I hope that our few remaining friends, give up on trying to save us.
Ford has done nothing but bring us closer together. Rory proposed to me in C section last week. Want to know why? He said, "I figured it out. You are a prima donna" and I replied, "Fuck you I am not! I'll kick your fucking ass!" I'm hilarious. Well, maybe that was just one of my few moments. But I am one of those people that prefers illusion to despair. I'm so awesome.

I hope we come up with a fail-safe plot to piss off the dumb few that forgave us.
The plot is coming along nicely. My favourite part of it is where Rory and I drive around screaming this song at the top of our lungs and complaining that Ultramart never has the right kind of cake. The shorty shorts for swimming are also an important feature.

I hope we drive past the last exit. I hope it's already too late.
Fucking driving to Ford. I hate the rain the most of all. Today I left Jean's house at 5 after 12 and got to the Ford parking lot at 20 minutes after 1. What the hell. Driving sucks up my entire day. On Monday I didn't have to drive home because I got a migraine again. Oh thank God for Rory and not having a manual transmission this time. If the car hadn't been in the shop, we might have never made it home--well, that's not true, but some of us prefer illusion to despair.

I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here someday burns down. And I hope the rising black smoke lifts me up and carries me far away from this town and I never come down in my life.
The world is going to hell. It's all our fault. Working at Ford makes me feel personally responsible and that breaks my heart. I much prefer being as detached as possible from environmental affairs. When I do that, I get a chance to forget that my dad is working for the enemy to keep the production of gas-guzzling (I love that alliteration so much) SUVs and trucks (have you seen the truck) legal, in order to save heartless corporations like Ford. Oh, Ford.

And I hope I lie.
Actually I lie all the time--but usually to myself. Lying at Ford is a failing mission. Although, I did spend a good hour looking for Matt so he could assign me a cleaning job. How was I supposed to know he wouldn't look at Brady's desk in R section or the annex? By twenty to 10, I decided to stay in one spot in order to find him, but that failed too. I hope I don't have to keep this charade going or I'll get caught for sure.

And tell everyone you were a good wife.
Ouch eh? Someday I'll be a good wife, hopefully even if I am a prima donna. Don't believe me? Well, let the lie live on; some of us prefer illusion to despair. I don't want to despair today. Maybe tomorrow. Besides, I'm totally going to lie and tell everyone Rory was a good wife, even if he won't wear a wedding ring lest they become an obstacle for his extramarrital affairs.

I hope you die.
Hahaha. I told everybody at the bar that last week. It was the best. The week before I hypnotized Jared Goba (by smacking him in the forehead) and he is such a good sport; all he said was, "Oh wow. You really got me." There weren't even any daggers shooting from his eyes. They shot from the eyes of a few others. So by the end of that night, my head really hurt. Telling people I want them to die went over with much less pain. My favourite might have been Pat Borrelli because as we were filing out of the bar I kept saying, "Hey, Pat!" and he would say, "I know you hope I die!" and I said, "Don't be offended. I hope we both die!"

I hope we both die.
Cheerfully. That's the line that makes everything better. Don't worry: I'll be dead too and we can hang out in the afterlife. I'm pretty sure it will suck as bad as this life, but at least we'll be together.

When I'm at Ford I imagine the ways I could die there. It's hard to come up with anything that doesn't result in someone else being severely traumatized by the experience. (I.e. Getting run over by forktruck might destroy the driver) But I found the best solution to that problem: Brady is going to kill me. He almost accidentally kills me at least once a day--yesterday it was by pushing me into a metal rack.

I think I'm destined to die as a result of head trauma, and Rory is destined to stand over my dead body laughing. On Sunday I was trying to pick up the ball from behind the chair for Sable, and the chair tipped and I smashed my head off the wall and then hit my chin on the wood part of the chair. Rory laughed for ten minutes while I laid on the floor. He didn't ask if I was okay. He just laughed.

More to Come
Now you have something to look forward to--or an illusion to prevent you from succombing to inevitable despair--for another week or so at least.