run away

A hard on doesn’t count as personal growth.

Do I look like a fucking people person?

This isn’t an office. It’s Hell with fluorescent lighting.

I started out with nothing, and I still have most of it left.

I pretend to work. You pretend to pay me.

If I throw a stick, will you leave?

And just how may I screw you over today?

And your crybaby whiny-assed opinion would be…?

I’m just working here ‘till a good fast food job opens up.

I’m not your type; I’m not inflatable.

I’m trying to imagine you with a personality.

Someone here is is thinking about sex. Okay, it’s me.

I have a computer, a vibrator, and pizza delivery. Why should I leave the house?

I just want revenge. Is that so wrong?

It’s sick the way you people keep having sex without me.

I work 40 hours a week to be this poor.

Okay, okay, I take it back! Unfuck you!

Nice perfume. Must you marinate in it?

You look like shit. Is that the style now?

Earth is full. Go home.

  Uh huh.. Okay then. And no, I’m not.

{ He rolled his eyes, lightly punching Harry on the arm. }

Are you sure? You're pretty sulk-ish. What's got you all worked up? Is it because I didn't say hello?

{ Maybe he winked, grinning. }

You’re stupid sometimes. Fine, fine, we’ll go. Luckily I remembered my coat.

{ He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. }

You're an especially agitated little guy today, aren't you?

{ He's holding back a laugh. Messing with Peter is by far his favorite thing. }