Excuses, Excuses.

"You sound like a man who didn't get much sleep last night." What? I've not even said anything yet, what the fuck does that even mean?

It's disruptive behaviour continues with a new unfounded vitriol this morning as it finds yet another excuse to talk. But here's the snag; it never says anything useful, worthwhile, interesting, work-related or even amusing; it just talks and talks, moans and complains, constant innate bollocks like a broken fucking machine.

It doesn't listen, it doesn't stop, it never stops to think, breathe, ponder, it's endless, everlasting, non-stop monotony. Solution: it's got to go, get sacked, die, disappear, anywhere, anything... just fuck off away from me you fat cunt!

I think Kyle Reese, or Michael Biehn, hit the nail on the head in 1984's The Terminator:

"It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead".

Never was a movie quote so well suited to real life. The question is: If I tried to crush Jelly with a giant pneumatic press, as Sarah Conner did to The Terminator, would Jelly split or would the press explode?