Cursing in the newsroom

I once threw a floppy disk across the room, and the girl who was there at the time told me that she didn't appreciate my behavior. I adored her for that. I apologized. Nothing is that bad.

 

A newsroom without profanity is part of a parallel universe of which I want no part.

 

Fuck you and your proper grammar. I want motherfucking prepositions at the end of motherfucking sentences.

 

Good thing you didn't throw a floppy disk drive, that could have hurt someone.

I had a former SE who would throw chairs against the wall. And I've heard my present SE broke the remote to our TV chucking it against the wall.
Of course, the way our newsroom is set up, we could throw all kinds of shit and it would only hit other sports guys and that doesn't matter.

 

Nicely played, dicksnort.

 

During the first year of my marriage, I threw a book at a wall during some petty argument. I don't think I've thrown anything since then, and that was eight years ago. Of course, I do beat the kids every now and then, usually at Memory, but sometimes at Candyland.

 

I still get really pissed and swear, but I gave up on throwing and punching things a couple of years ago. Having your knuckles swell up because you punched a wall really isn't worth it.

 

The Roswell masturbator put a hole in the wall of the newsroom with a chair. And someone, maybe the masturbator, cracked the plastic casing of his computer, with a golf club I believe.

 

I once got called into the office by my chickenshit boss because another employee didn't like a nine-curse string one afternoon.

And my fuckstick boss was worse than me.

 

That's some funny shit.
Why did he have his golf clubs in the newsroom?
I saw someone punch a cubicle wall so hard it knocked it over and knocked a bunch of shit off of someone's desk. He had a hard time explaining that one.

 

The club was a freebie some company sent. He was supposed to test it out, write about it and send it back. He never did any of that, so the newsroom had its own pitching wedge.

 

One night a few months ago, at my old stop, I started on one of my well-known rants of profanity, usually just me being ridiculous, nothing major.

"STOP IT!" a photog yelled.

He started yelling and saying how I was making it a hostile newsroom. This of course was the same guy who would let his dog run around the office at will on weekends and was known to drop a few F bombs of his own.

Cocksucker.

Nonetheless, I have tried to lessen my cursing, since it sometimes goes off the deep end.