This is not an episode of Scooby-Doo. There is no need to have a huge montage of me running up and down a hall, in and out of random doors, while random crap* jumps out to scare me and then retreats behind a slammy door.
And you just know those bitches are going to pop out of another door you don’t expect, any fucking second.

I am not saying that you have to line all these issues up so I can address them** orderly fashion. But, at least some sort of sense to them would be nice.

I have made every attempt to deal with this in a sane fashion. You, however, are leaving me no choice.

From now on, I am just going to prioritize according to how I see fit. And if you don’t like it, I will just turn the damn montage music up louder. See if you can be heard above the Casio, you puling crack-ho.

Love you. Mean it.
~The Mgmt