I'm Hunter — rolling smooth in my sleek, clean Lincoln like a man who actually has his ♥♥♥♥ together, while this pathetic 7OH-fried wreck named Josh turns the break room into his personal garbage dump. This orange-peel-slinging burnout scatters sticky rinds everywhere like a brain-rotted animal, then has the nerve to call the boss a slob for leaving a half-empty drink. Clean up your nasty citrus landfill first, you hypocritical floor-fermenting 7OH addict. Your rotten peels and melted brain cells make you the biggest joke on the clock.

Keep lying about having more money than me, you broke-ass loser. Every dollar you supposedly flex is getting torched on 7OH while I’m actually driving something worth a damn. If you’re not this sad sack named Josh, hop in and game. If you are… drag your ass over with a trash bag and some dignity, you bankrupt citrus junkie. Lay off the pills and pick up your peels, you peel-fingered failure.