My Ooey-Gooey Phony Baloney Boss

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Abstract

sive suits that look stupid on her fat little body.</p><p id="1978">She is much like my mother Emma, only Emma was a thousand times smoother.</p><p id="17b4">Candy alienates people instantaneously with her high-pitched, penetrating, saccharine voice and that stupid phony smile plastered all over her face.</p><p id="a799">Everyone knows that behind all that sweetness is a forked tongue; a tongue lightning fast that can strike at any moment. She is a rattlesnake, a cobra, a boa constrictor.</p><p id="fdb6">She is deadly, little Miss Sugar and Spice. Her fondest desire would probably be to bring in an uzi and gun us all down from her glassed-in corner.</p><p id="20b7">She is a dangerous and wicked woman, Candy T. She is a self-confirmed child hater, and I feel certain that hating them so much keeps her from doing the gruesome things she would be compelled to do if ever given the opportunity. She keeps herself from molesting children by molesting, symbolically, her staff.</p><p id="9b4b">She is so much

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like Emma, probing and jabbing; poking and prodding, mindlessly inflicting pain and suffering on those unfortunate souls who happen into her realm.</p><p id="b1e2">But Candy T., like Emma, will one day get her just desserts. No matter how hard she tries to keep every one and every thing under control, she will one day, in some way, suffer retribution for the years of violence perpetrated on her undeserving subjects.</p><div id="2514" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/read-or-die-publication-rules-03813fc16904"> <div> <div> <h2>Read or Die — Publication Rules</h2> <div><h3>Updated January 2024 Guidelines</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*12VP38Uw7-aiufW2DP5Ohw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

1991

Candy T. is an ooey-gooey phony baloney sugary sweet piece of shit. She is a disgusting piece of humanity, disgusting to the core of her being. She is a bloated toad, puffed up, engorged.

She talks as though she has just inhaled helium, and one keeps wishing she would stand still, unplug the hole, and let it out. Then maybe she would be tolerable and one could connect with her in some sort of human way.

But this isn’t possible with our little Miss Confection, our little goody two shoes, dressed in her expensive suits that look stupid on her fat little body.

She is much like my mother Emma, only Emma was a thousand times smoother.

Candy alienates people instantaneously with her high-pitched, penetrating, saccharine voice and that stupid phony smile plastered all over her face.

Everyone knows that behind all that sweetness is a forked tongue; a tongue lightning fast that can strike at any moment. She is a rattlesnake, a cobra, a boa constrictor.

She is deadly, little Miss Sugar and Spice. Her fondest desire would probably be to bring in an uzi and gun us all down from her glassed-in corner.

She is a dangerous and wicked woman, Candy T. She is a self-confirmed child hater, and I feel certain that hating them so much keeps her from doing the gruesome things she would be compelled to do if ever given the opportunity. She keeps herself from molesting children by molesting, symbolically, her staff.

She is so much like Emma, probing and jabbing; poking and prodding, mindlessly inflicting pain and suffering on those unfortunate souls who happen into her realm.

But Candy T., like Emma, will one day get her just desserts. No matter how hard she tries to keep every one and every thing under control, she will one day, in some way, suffer retribution for the years of violence perpetrated on her undeserving subjects.