You would have never, in your motherfucking life, even dreamt about talking to me the way you talk to Jabba, cause H-shem knows I would've broken my foot off in your ass with a quickness. How DARE YOU, instead of being a professional and discussing her raise like a civilized human being, how DARE YOU make her list her expenses and question her repeatedly about why she needs the money.
Are you for real? Why does she need it? This is New-fucking-York!! You can't fling a cat in this town without being billed for it. You know that! And what is a few lousy bucks more an hour going to cost you? Huh? A tank of gas for your stupid bike? You ASSHOLE!!!
[And Jabba- don't even get me started on you. How dare YOU let that man speak to you like that? Hold your head up. Show some pride! Stop sucking his fucking dick all the time and stand up for yourself!!]
Are you planning to be buried with your money? Is that it? Do you need it in the afterlife? Does it cost money to get into your heaven? That must be the reason you hoard money like it's going out of style.
Wait- is money going out of style?
I swear, if there is any justice in this world, you and your whole matza-eatin, kid-havin, moochin, greedy-ass family will just disappear somewhere, so I don't have to hear about you degrading the people who work for you, favoring some workers over others like they got some shady info on you, creating some sort of surveillanced-within-an-inch-of-it's-life new office space, and just being an all-around creep.
And the dance of jig us worker-ants will dance when we are all free of your grasp will be the jiggiest jig ever danced in the history of jigs. Watch.
We're gonna dance it right on the hood of your car.
Prick!!!
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