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The Hogs of Entropy 0355
'##::::'##:::'#####:::'########: VIVA LA REVOLUCION! CERDO DEL CAPITALISTA!!
##:::: ##::'##.. ##:: ##.....:: ===========================================
##:::: ##:'##:::: ##: ##::::::: THE HELOTS OF ECSTASY PRESS RELEASE #355 !!
#########: ##:::: ##: ######::: ZIEGO VUANTAR SHALL BE MUCH VICTORIOUS! !!
##.... ##: ##:::: ##: ##...:::: ===========================================
##:::: ##:. ##:: ##:: ##::::::: "Square Dancing With The Fucking Fatsos" !!
##:::: ##::. #####::: ########: by -> Ewheat !!
..:::::..::::.....::::........:: 12/16/98 !!
!!========================================================================!!
She puffed her cigarette smoke in my face. The fucking smoke
burnt my god damned eyes. As soon as I was finished rubbing my eyes, I
saw the fat whore grinning at me. Then she HAD the nerve to ask to see
my manager. All I did was tell her we were out of Zima, what the hell
is she doing drinking Zima anyway, and she fucking blew smoke in my
fucking face. I make 5.50 dollars an hour plus tip (from fat people
like her) I start dreaming the possibilites of brutally beating the fat
ho' dressed up in spandex and silk.
"I'd like a Zima, please."
"We're out of Zima, sorry, can I get you anything else?"
*inhale* *looking at me* *puff* *looking at me*
"Why you, you fucking bloated cow, I'm going to rip your fucking
fake reading glasses off your fucking neck and shove them up your fucking
hemmorid-ridden anus. Fuck you." *punching* (insert happy scenes from
Adam West's Batman) *pOW* *zOINK*
"No NO!@ STOP THAT YOU BEAST!@#"
Yeah, that wouldn't be good. That'd give my fucking manager
another reason to fire me. He didn't fire me when I "accidentally"
spilled a pitcher of Sprite on a buncha fucking screaming kids at a god
damned birthday party. This isn't no fucking Chuck E. Cheese, it's a
fucking Italian restaurant, go find somewhere else to party you stupid
little shits. He didn't fire me for taking excessive smoke breaks.
Fuck, if he had to deal with these sonovabitches in this fucking place,
he'd be the next Marlboro Man. Beating her will seriously get me fired.
Fuck me. I'd quit, only my Honda doesn't pay for itself, plus
room/board/books at OSU ain't cheap either. I'll be fucked. If it
weren't fo... .. .
"Hello, excuse me?"
The fucking fat whore... again.
"Yes, what do you want?"
"Stop staring at me, I'd like to see the manager."
At least it's an excuse to get rid of her. It's usual routine
for us to turn our heads around and pretend that we're looking for the
manager, while he's really sitting in his fucking office... probably
beating off to the videos he tapes from the camcorders in the restrooms
established solely for the reason of "to prevent anyone from stealing
from this franchise." This is a fucking restaurant, not a fucking
jewelry store. Christ. "Sorry ma'am he's not around, lemme check his
office." Pshaw. I march into the kitchen. Take a right, aw fuck the
directions. Oh, of course, his door is locked. He's beating off. Yep
he is. *knock knock*
"Who's there?"
"Who do you think?"
"You again?"
He kicks the door open, almost hitting me. Just look at him for
Christ's sake. He looks like a fucking detective in those polyester
pants, that cheap tie, and the sweat-soaked Falls Creek button-up
shirt... what a nerd.
"Who's pissed off this time?"
"Some fat lady, ain't my fault this time"
"Wasn't your fault, huh? We'll see."
The fat elephant was more than happy to see someone in charge. I
think she wanted to fuck him. All of a sudden she had an attitude
change, she went from Cruella De Vil to the fucking Fairy Godmother.
"Hello ma'am, what seems to be the problem?"
"Teehee, nothing really, this stubborn boy refused to let me
purchase Zima."
Fucking stubborn? We dont have any fucking Zima. I thought to
myself. Then my fat rhino-of-a-man manager commanded me to get Zima.
"We dont have any Zima left, sir."
"Go check, anyway."
We fucking dont have any fucking Zima. The bartender told me
THRICE already, we dont have any fucking Zima. I'm not gonna embarrass
myself for the fourth time with the hot bartender chick. The bar doesn't
have it. Go figure. The coolers dont have it. Go fucking figure. I
can see my stupid fucking manager mingling with that baboon. They're
laughing. Ha ha ha, what's so funny? Your weight? Shut up fat dorks.
I am more than happy to interupt their conversation.
"hahaha, that was a good one Elmra... it reminds me of when I was
a yo..."
"Sorry, I checked all the coolers and the bar, no Zima."
"Oh, that's allright, get this nice lady a shot of vodka."
"On the rocks?"
We both look at her. She takes a fucking long time to think.
It's just ice, goddammit. Ice, just ice, you stupid fucking baboon.
"Nah."
That fucking whore looks at me, with this "haha, you little
minimum wage earning peon" look. I smile back with a "hahaha, I pissed
in your Jenny Craig nutrition drink" smile. I bring back a shot of
vodka... with a fucking olive in it... I bet she's gonna suck the red
shit out of the god damned olive first. I smile at her again. That's
right, service with a fucking smile.
God, I just fucking love minimum wage jobs.
<I used the word fuck 39 times in this story, find them all, you
fucking fat whore... 40.>
!!========================================================================!!
!! (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! #355 - WRITTEN BY: EWHEAT - 12/16/98 !!
