Some days I strongly consider walking away from my lucrative career and retiring to a private island with my untold riches and an ever-rotating gross of the world’s finest prostitutes. I really do. And this was certainly one of those days.
See, the boys in R&D unveiled their latest design, which meant that I, along with several of my underlings, had to attend a product rollout meeting. You know, brainstorming. Figure out how we were going to run this baby up the flagpole, and just how many people might salute it. Given the strict confidentiality clauses in Luddite, Crapstone & Fuchs’ employee contracts, I’m not allowed to tell you what that product is. So for the sake of argument, let’s say it was a double-headed, solid gold dildo that squirts peanut butter out one side and jelly from the other.
With me so far? Good. It also means you’d probably do a better job than any one of the halfwits who currently call me boss.
“So let me get this straight,” my VP, Sherm Schweinbumser, said after R&D’s Bosco Peterman finished his eminently followable demonstration. “It shoots jelly out the one side, and… mustard out the other?”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
“What? Mustard? Who told you mustard?” Peterman asked. “Peanut butter, boy! Pea! Nut! Butter! That’s pretty much the exact opposite of mustard. Weren’t you paying attention?”
“Oh, okay,” Schweinbumser nodded, jotting something in his ever-present and apparently useless notebook. “Got it.”
“Wait wait wait,” piped up Len Squidley, head of my sales team. “What kind of jelly?”
“Does it matter?” Peterman asked.
“Of course it matters. If you want me to sell the damn thing, I need to know what kind of jelly it squirts.”
“Any kind of jelly the customer wants. We don’t supply the jelly, just the dildo.”
“Now hold on!” some other idiot added. Not sure what his name is, but I’m firing him when I find out. “Why are we supplying mustard but not jelly?”
Peterman grimaced. I’d seen that look before, too. It either meant he was about to fill his britches or he was having heart palpitations. “Goddammit! I already told you numbskulls — it’s peanut butter out one side, and jelly out the other! No goddamn mustard, no goddamn ketchup, and we don’t supply either!”
“We don’t supply mustard or ketchup,” Schweinbumser said, scribbling furiously. “Got it. Hey Squidley, better make a note of that for sales. Oh, but hey, Mr. Peterman — what about the peanut butter and jelly? What brands are we supplying? It is peanut butter and jelly, right? Or did we decide to go with mustard and ketchup?”
With that, the unmistakable smell of shit filled the room and Peterman hastily excused himself. Oh well. At least it wasn’t a case of his ticker going bad on him again.
“Alright you morons, looks like this meeting is over,” I growled. “The only reason I’m not demoting you all is because your idiocy managed to keep it from cutting into my lunch. Now then, return to your posts — dismissed!”
And so it goes. The worst part is, I’m sure Peterman’s going to remember this when it comes time for quarterly reviews. The upside is, if my crew’s stupidity continues to distract him, he may never find out that I’m screwing his wife.
Speaking of which, gotta run. I’m not the type to keep a lady waiting.