Archive
03/02/09 - (1)
Job Security
Another Monday! Another bunghole Monday! Holy living shit! Not-so-hot spit and monkey vomit! Hail to the chief of despots, King Monday, that killer gorilla!
"Oh! How I hate to get up in the morning," All the more so, on the first one of every new week. Damn me, all to hell, for being a slave to my slave wages!
And what are they, anyway, Those motivations to wake up, get going, to my job, Just to clock in, say I got there on time, all over again?
As if anybody other than me really gives a regal living shit, Anybody other than that bad-ass Simian King of the Silverbacks, Monday, alpha male of the Planet of the Apes Petting Zoo,
Where I work, feeding the predatory hours chunks of my meat. They crave eating my flesh, gnawing on my bones (And here, all these years, I believed they were vegetarians).
So what's to do, now? Weary and paycheck-to-paycheck, Do I have any choice but to show up at the Gorillatarium, Kiss the big toe of Mighty King Ca-Ca, of the Monday-jungle?
I need my job. It's not really too much more complex than that. Fortunately, during this raging recession nations are facing, His hairy heinous highness can't afford to efface me from his payroll.
He needs me, decrepit and lethargic as he accuses me of being. What unholy King Ca-Ca, that unsavory, sleazy bastard, knows Is that I'm the best "cage cleaner" he's ever had, could ever hire,
Since I and only I, as far as I know, Possess an amazingly preternatural talent: I can stroke his big toe in such a way as to give it an erection
And then spend the rest of the day regaling his even baser instincts, Performing the most delicious fellatio on that prehensile digit, Bringing him to savage, aboriginal orgasm, over and over,
After which I disappear, exhausted from my labors, Go home, to my lean-to tree house, by the river, to sleep it off, While Monday abdicates and Tuesday mounts the throne.
03/02/09 - (1)
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