Dale was shirtless as he wiped down toilets rolling off the assembly line. “Christ almighty,” he’d utter as he’d cleared sweat from his brow. The crotch of his pants were soaked due to excessive perspiration but he might’ve pissed himself.
“First they tell me I can’t take benzos on the clock! Now they’re saying I have to wear a shirt at all times,” he hooted and hollered. “What is this shit?! Communist Russia?! My papaw didn’t murder innocent Italians for me to bake my ass off under this cursed sun! I tell ya, if HR says one more word to me I’m gonna tell that bitch to lick my asshole!”
“What seems to be on your mind today Dale?” I ask him. It was hard to pay attention to his screaming while sweat was streaming down his man boobs.
“Oh the same old shit,” he says. “The boss man comes up to me and says that he’s ‘concerned’. Concerned about what I say. And he says I clearly haven’t ’showered’ in weeks and that I ‘reek of booze’ and that I ‘keep going into payroll with a loaded .38 and threatening to kill myself and everyone in here”
“I wouldn’t take that shit Dale”
“I ain’t! Next time that mother fucker comes around here I’m gonna tell him that he’s a bitch and that he should go fuck himself!”
“You should.”
“They should know I don’t need this job! I might have lost my CDLs because of numerous DUI convictions but I can still back an 18-wheeler better than any limp dick bastard!”
“So true Dale,” I say. “Anyway, it’s been nice chattin. If you need me I’ll be taking my two hour shit.”
“But you just got here!”
“Yeah that’s true too. Anyways see you around.”
The boss man rounds the corner with clipboard in hand. He’s all smiles as he gives us the day’s instructions. “Great news gentlemen!” he begins. “We have an order of 5000 toilets to Mexico. 15000 to the Caribbean. And 3 to Little St. James Island. I need every toilet looking clean enough to eat off of before they ship. If you need me, I’ll be court side at the Clippers game. Good luck!”
“Yes sir,” says Dale.
The Internet Ruined Everything 