Sonnet XIV (With Further Apologies To E. Barrett Browning)

(... and no goddamn thanks at all to my boss.)

If you must irk me, you had better not
Come up with half-assed reasons. Do not say
"I irk you for I'm bored -- always -- all day
In the office, -- for I have not one thought
That falls within logic and reason, not
'Specially in a conventional way" --
For these things in themselves, asshole, may
Be fatal for you, -- and fury, so wrought,
Will not be unwrought. Neither irk me for
Your own fatu'ty and good sense's decry, --
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Your madness long, and murder you thereby!
Should you irk me another moment more
You will rue your birth for infinity.

Sonnet XLIII (With Apologies To E. Barrett Browning)

(... and no goddamn thanks to my boss.)

How do you irk me? Let us count, shall we?
You irk me to the depth and breadth and height
A saint would reach, feeling out of sight
For the ends o' disbelief and absurdity.
You irk me to the degree of hourly
Thoughts o' 'crutiatingly tor'trous homicide.
You irk me freely, as imbeciles have died.
You irk me thor'ghly, as they shat their brains.
You irk me with the brainlessness put to use
In your incompetence and in(s)anity.
You irk me so completely I refuse
To pity you - you irk me like no one else,
Not even assholes - and, if should blow my fuse,
I shall but tell you to go fuck yourself.