So the manager of the toilet factory came stumbling up to my door the other night. He was covered in piss and crying his eyes out.

“Please Beau! Please!” he kept crying, “Come back to us!”

I laughed and shook my head. “You pathetic little man,” I said, “why would I come back to work for you? Since I left, I got my license to practice medicine in Aruba. I’m a real doctor now…something you could never achieve in a thousand lifetimes!”

“But but but,” he stumbled, “I promise to be nice to you and give you a raise!”

I paused for a moment. I considered all the malpractice lawsuits that I started accumulating and considered his offer. “I’ll think about it,” I said, “I also want my own office with a bathroom so I can take as many shits as I want.”

“Done!” he said.

Then I shut the door on his stupid fucking face.

So you read that correctly: after all the endless psychological warfare I committed against management earlier in the year, they want me back. And I’m seriously considering their offer.

The alternative is that I lose all of my money in lawsuits that I can’t possibly win. Come to find out, being a doctor is really hard. So I think I will surrender my medical license to the Aruban embassy (who I blackmailed into giving me anyway).

So apologies once again to all of my followers. My career is back in flux so I can’t dedicate as much time as I would like into reading your wonderful blogs. Please bear with me.

I love you ❤️