We support Website Finance Reform. In other words, stuff this dumb should have to remain self-funded.
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"I guess Cyberblop didnt acept your resignation," he said dryly. I did not say anything. We walked down anothor hallway, this time overlooking through a long glass window a bunch of TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) people toiling away. Actualy, they were all playin foosball and squash, and a few were relaxing in a pool and a hot tub. All the people exept the ones in the hot tub and pool were wearin the famous TechnoDigiMeriCom(R) shirt.
"Here are the troops, hard at work at 4 PM," he sighed sarcasticaly as we walked by.
"You know, Mr. Miller, I did not want to hire you. But because you chose Owl as your Pooh role modol, we had to let you in."
Little did he know that the only reasen why I picked "Owl" was becuase I was thinking of Granfather. Also, I instinctiveley recalled that he is the only one who coud fly, and being Owl, I coud always crap on whoever i wanted.
He led me to a small bathrroom, just as Stu discribed it. Before I went in, he did indeed frisk me. I was teriffied.
"You're a bit flabby for such a slim fellow," he said suspiciousley while his hand patted RIGHT ON the bag of wee taped to my stomoch.
I said, "Waal, after I'm workin here I will work out and tighten those abs."
Carefuly, I tore the electricol tape off my stomoch. As Stu had told me, I placed the squares of tape on the bottem of my shoes. It was like being in an episode of "Mission: Impossible"
I carefuly laid the bag of wee on the small stainless steel countor. It looked like a preciuos jewel, like a giant rare slab of amber shimmoring in the flourescent light, glowing allmost in its square beveled enclosure like a gorgeous flawless topaz. Next I uncapped the plastic sampel bottle, unzipped the bag, and started to pour it from one cornor into the bottle. Oh, yuck, there was a big black wiggley hair in there. As soon as I saw it I lost my ballance and all the golden pee cascaded like a horse letting go, splashing onto the steel countor, dripping onto the floor.
The only thing I coud think of was to whip off my socks and sop it all up and I started cryin as i did this. And then in a coupel of hard squeezes wringed the piss into the cup with one hand as I used the othor as a funnel.
I opened the door and the evil emaiciated version of David Schwimmer sniffed the air and disrespectfully made some comment that I must of had asparragus for lunch or somthing and then he slapped a small sticky-back flexible thermomotor to the side of the cup.
"Ninety eight point-nine," he sneered, then wrinkled his nose and peered into the toilet. "Hmm, you didnt spill a drop. Usualy tech support hires hose the place down."
"Walt, your shoes are sqeaking, man. Are they wet?"
I said, NEVER MIND STU.
"Mmmmph!" said Bouvard, ovor and over while Peaches talked, ovbiously not paying attention, "Mmmmmmpph!"
Mr. Bouvard and Mr. Peckushay allways travel First Class, but at the counter, Stu, who travels more than all of them also got an upgrade. Peaches, who not only has a head that looks like a blonde shiny Pez dispenser is also an arrogent little twerp, pushed both me and Stu aside with his pointey little elbows as we boarded.
"Ill take that upgrade," he sneered, snatching the boarding pass out of Stu's hand, "I haveto talk company businness with Mr. Bouvard."
Stu is a gentelmen and never said anything about it. I was glad it hapenned too, cause I did NOT want to sit next to Peaches.
On the plane, it worked out well for Stu cause he got to eat his meal and also mine. My stomoch now felt like there was an entire train locomotove in there. I wasnt counting (I was afraid to, realley) but it seemed like I hadnt crapped in 2 weeks.
"You gotta take care of yourself," Stu grunted, hefting himself up to looseing his seatbelt as the plane banked steepley over the Grand Canyon, "You've got a double meal alowance on this trip! Its a once in lifetime event!"
I was at the window seat, and Stu in the middle. Stu usualy takes both armrests in the plane, and that i do not mind, but what I DONT like is when they allways bank steeply ovor the Grand Canyon. There's always some rubberneck idiot in the aisle seat whose never seen it before crawlin all over you. A big Krout tourist flung himself from Seat C to Seat A where I was sitting and mashed the heel of his hand in my balls while steadying himself half laying over Stu's chest. If you want to see the Grandcanyon take a trip there yourself dannmit.
Why I ate 3 suppers: Stu kept asurring me that the more food I put into myself, the more woud come out. He said that it is both a Marketing principle and an Inventorey principle. I told him that my colon is not a stockroom. I wrote an update a few years ago about how Granfather had ate a bag of Portland Cement and also some Reagen Administration surplus cheese and coudnt crap for a long, long time. I will no longor make fun of him if that hapens agian.
We imediatly all went out to supper. The Boss, Mr. Bouvard is a diferent fellow on a business trip. He is quite talkative. He is also the sort to hold his highball glassbetween his thumb and fourfinger at chin level, and thrust it toword your face, along with his three remaining fingors. He is practicaly the only one who spoke for the whole meal. A few times Peaches cut in to say that what the boss said was briliant, and so did Stu, howevor when Stu does it it does not sound so pattronizing.
For the whole meal the Boss, (he insists that you call him 'Boss'), rambolled on and on about "Deliverables" and "Milestones" and also "Action Items" and even the ocasional "Red-flagged Action Item" that has to "Be taken offline and re-adressed in a sidebar engagement." I started to get scaired, (I wish I coud say crapping in my pants but no such luck), becuase these are all words and things they say at TechnoDigiMeriCom(R). I hope they didnt catch on that I had a new job there.
"Brilliant observattion, Boss," Stu said a few times. Peaches' pink Pez face grew red cause it was ovbious Stu was kissing ass better than him. Just before dessert the contractions were two minutes apart and I thoght I coud sneak of to the restroom to sink some lead.
"Great job butterring up the Boss," I said to him from inside the stall. Stu whipped out a pocket comb and still while peeing with NO HANDS he gazed into the mirror, coiffing and sweeping his wispy blonde pig brisstles back straight.
"The diference between me and Peaches," he said confodently, while concentratting in the mirror "Is the diference between kissing ass, and blowing smoke up one's ass."
I did not know what the meant but I thoght I shoud be sure to remember it.
Stu is a pig, yes, to be sure. (No, I am not kidding: he is realy a pig).