You seriously had the fucking audacity to come to me, the morning of our fiscal year end, and scold me because the entire week of work I just fucking lost sleep over, needs to be deleted and redone by the day after because "Open quotes, accounts, and shipments will not be carried over to the new year"?
If I could punch you in the fucking face as hard as I wanted to right now, I would, you son of a bitch.
You're lucky as fuck I didn't yell at you any fucking harder than I did.
I hope you're as fucking good at coordinating shipment schedules as I am, you motherfuck, because I'm making sure you take the fall for this.