No one had ever accused Sheister Slob Doughboy of working too hard. Fifteen years on the job as associate bean counter at his brother-in-laws fly by night accounting firm has established Doughboy as the office slouch. His peers will tell you that he sits there, on the job, twiddling his thumbs all day. His brother-in-law, sole proprietor of the Skokie "Sham-en-Scam Accountants Unlimited" will tell you that he sits there with his "thumbs up his ass all day". Occasionally he gives his thumbs a rest and uses his index fingers to bring up an internet porno site. When he really gets bored, or his anus gets sore, he reads some really bizarre stuff. Anyway, obviously, he never does anything. He is, unequivocally, the epitome of a big fat lazy no good worthless sheister sham artist, the consummate modern-day uneducated office human beluga.
This worthless waste is as disrespected at home as he is on his token quasi-accountant job. Nothing ever gets accomplished around the dilapidated dump he and his ugly Wighead Bitch wife call home. The pattern of these two societal leeches is to move in to some run down pig-sty they can get at a rock bottom price, let it rot further under their stewardship, and then attempt to sell the pile of shit at an exorbitant price to some unsuspecting lummox. As is always the case, this process takes months and months, sometimes years, and it gives these two assholes the opportunity to tell what limited number of friends/associates they do have..."oh, look at us....we are so unfortunate, we have once again been martyred and persecuted". Anyway, these situations are the only time there is any bonding between these dysfunctional half-wits and their maladjusted junior sham-artist punk kids. Most of the time these two mental abortions are fighting internal inferiority complexes and looking for some semblance of self-esteem. Outwardly, these modern day cave dwellers are no better off, constantly arguing, berating, belittling and hounding each other to the degree that they can't stand each others guts. Do you understand that these individuals are some really unstable, delusional, paranoid, tormented pissoffs and, in their warped minds, are the cause of their lot!?
Sharlitan Doughboy had had a rough day, on this particular occasion. He actually had to handle a client, as all the other bean counters were off sick. The slob had advised a long standing Sham-en-Scam Accountants Unlimited client, Wilbur Creampuff , to sell off all his United States Savings Bonds and invest the proceeds in the OZD Steelworks, GmbH. Creampuff learned he'd instantly lost thousands of his hard earned retirement dollars and filed a malpractice law suit against the big behemoth, and his sheister-employer. Ugly Doughboy realized he'd once again fucked up royally and just sat at his desk, in a mental stupor, petrified that his brother-in-law would now fire him. He quickly conjured up a pseudo-justification, nonetheless. I'll tell him "I'm uneducated, untrainable, mentally handicapped, psychotic, schizophrenic, abused, martyred, persecuted", all the usual bullshit, "and that will save my ass". The big sheister sat there at his computer, like a human vegetable, reading asinine and preposterous material, in a mental haze/quagmire. In the back of his very sick mind a faint voice was whispering...."I deserve a thorough and ultimate ass beating-I hope I can get the living shit pulverized out of me for I am nothing but a worthless no-good sheister shithead bastard!" That voice, telling him that, somehow made slob Doughboy feel comfortable.
It was 5 pm and the calendar page had permanently burned an image into the CRT screen at the fat oinkers desk. He pulled his thumbs out of his ass and wiped up with a generic facial tissue. The mental abortion was feeling some trepidation about going home to his ugly wife and those obnoxious anal-retentive punks. He called the dump and told his big slobbish mite-infested Wigheaded wife he had to work late on a special project on the Hungarian economy.....which, was only a slight fabrication of the truth, other than the "work" component.
Blubbery Doughboy went out on the street subsequently, waddling down Handelmann Ave., thinking (simultaneously) "I am God's gift to the world...Look at me, I am so special, " as the other sphere dictated "you worthless piece of shit, I hope I get my brains blown out right here-right now". In this cognitive quagmire, the behemoth, talking to himself, inwardly and outwardly, tripped on the curb and fell forward, banging his forearms into a passing by Mercedes.
The owner immediately jumped out of the vehicle as the behemoth wimp cowered.
Ending 1
Ending 2
Ending 3
7/08
