250 Word Sentence – Anger

It is unbelievable to me that Harry Winters-a partner who is competent at best, but in all likelihood, merely adequate-has the pluck, the audacity, the sheer propensity for obscenity to delegate to me-of all people, a hard working schmuck that puts his head down and works while at the office instead of gabbing and parleying and trying to move up the corporate ladder-the bulk of a project, nay, the entire project, and then turn around to poor old Salisbury (the codger is lucky if he doesn’t have to be spoon-fed and sponge-bathed) and take credit-full credit, mind you-for the work I’ve done, when he hadn’t even looked at the . . . why, I wish old Salisbury had had the presence of mind, feeble or no, to ask him one question, just one, any question: that’s all it would have taken to reveal Winters’s complete and utter ignorance with regard to the details-hell, even the basic gist-of this project; oh, I would have love to have seen that, by God, and I would even be willing to bet a month’s salary (although to Winters that is probably a paltry week’s worth of labor-if you are willing to refer to stealing another man’s work and soul labor) that he wouldn’t have been able to answer even the most basic question, uninformed enough that even old Salisbury’s feeble mind would have probably been able to pick up on the complete and voluminous ineptitude.