FFOT: stress-inducing job related

First off, since this is likely to be a pretty bad one, I'd like to make an announcement.

There will be shouting.  You have been warned.

Feel free to join in with telling whatever's made your week worse to FTFO in the comments.


First off, to the fucking shit-wit that redesigned the course: you are a fucking waste of fucking space, fucking skin, fucking air, and other fucking resources.  You are a so-called female, yet are so fucking badly stricken with spiritual halitosis worse than a dockside whore's dripping cunt after a Saudi ship docks, and a fucking holier-than-thou/smarter-than-everyone attitude that you fucking barely resemble a fucking politician, much less a fucking human being.  Because of you and your fucking abortion of a fucking class design that fucking mistakes fucking bells and fucking whistles for things that actually help students rather than distracting and harming them, our department head is to be added as a teaching assistant to every online class, and must observe/inspect our interactions with the students, as if he is not busy enough teaching, and acting as a buffer between the ass-munching mouth-breathers in admin and his faculty.  And you, you fucking cum-burping gutter-slut wanna-be, you ask in a "reply all" email if he's going to grade your fucking papers?  Who the fucking fuckety fuck do you fucking think you are?  You are a fucking fellow adjunct.  You are a fucking contract employee.  Your whole fucking job is to fucking grade those fucking papers.  Fuck you and your fucking wonderful and innovative ideas, and your fucking wonderful and fucking innovative class.  I hope you contract explosive bleeding from your anus and die a painful and humiliating death in front of your classroom.  I'd wish it on your husband, but you're such a winner that you probably won't have one, and may not even know what a penis looks like outside of a photo or video--unless you have one, which you very well may. 

Second, to the fucking knob-gobbling, cock-riding, pencil-necked fucknugget in charge of distance learning: you, boy, are about half a job-threat away from a bitch-slap with a semi-fresh trout.  There is a proper method by which to file a complaint against a fellow employee of the university.  You did not use it.  Instead of contacting my department head, who happens to be my direct boss, or the dean of arts and sciences (his boss), you took it all the fucking way to one of the myriad fucking uselsess fucking vice presidents that feel that anything that makes the university look bad (especially their own actions) threatens their job and must be silenced, no matter if it is truthful or not.  You cannot seem to handle any kind of truth about your distance learning ideas--things like "this is bad for most of the students because of the way it's designed, and the way it uses too many of the optional tools that Blackboard has"--nor that the reason the course was designed the way it was is because it justifies the use of an overpriced, under-functioning platform, your job, and apparently your very being, you spineless, estrogen-overcharged she-male.  You may fuck off with a razor-wire wrapped cricket bat coated in the rotten ejaculate of pigs (just in case you're Muslim instead of Atheist, like most higher-ups in the university hierarchy) and rolled in broken glass.  May you be ass-plowed by half of the campus rent-a-cops on their golf carts while they're texting and driving.  May your superiors catch on to the fact that you likely cannot turn on a computer without a detailed checklist with pictures--and an assistant--and fire your arrogant, worthless ass.  I cannot make Distance Learning look bad.  You're doing a fine job of that, all by yourself.

I feel better, now.  I will feel even better after I spend some time perforating paper in a little while.