Jenkins! My office! Nnnooowww!

Shut the door behind you. No—slam it. Slam the goddamn door behind you. That’s it! Sit down. Now, listen here, Jenkins, I just got the specs back from corporate and it turns out that on your T.P.S. reports have a….you smell something, Jenkins? Never mind.tps report

As I was saying, I got your T.P.S. reports back from corporate and it turns out that there is a discrepancy regarding the G.W.O figures. I don’t know how you came up with the numbers you did, but they’re wrong. Dead wrong.

shitpants2…Yes, that is my signature at the bottom of the reports, but that doesn’t matter. I…hold on…I gotta cross my legs….it doesn’t matter if it was my responsibility to check your work, it was your responsibility to make sure I double-check, which obviously, I didn’t.

This office isn’t one for ventilation, is it? (Cough)

Now, look here—Mr. Grossman—my boss—your boss-boss—he isn’t too pleased with you. In fact, he’s goddamn furious over this T.P.S. fiasco. I tried to plead with him that you’re just an idiot and not even worth the pink slip you should be given, but he is willing to give you another chance. It was either fire you and have me do the reports or give you another try.

You seriously don’t smell that?

Here is what Mr. Grossman wants from you. He wants these T.P.S. reports redone with the new G.W.O formation layout implemented and he wants me to make sure you don’t screw it up this time. And you can start by telling me what exactly a T.P.S report is and what G.W.O. stands for.

Of course I know what they are….I just want to see if you know what they are too. I also want to see if you can duplicate my signature—ya know, just in case I am not around or if…I don’t…know how exactly to check a T.P.S. report.

Grossman is pretty pissed about all this. He thinks that…hey, does your seat feel wet, too? No? I could have sworn mine feels a little…what the hell….? Oh, oh god!! Jenkins, goddammit! How did you do that? I don’t know what kind of sick games you are up to, but this reprehensible! You sick little monkey!

You’ve really screwed me here, Jenkins. I thought we agreed that you do your job and leave me none of the responsibility and I just make more money. This is America, yes? And now I got Grossman looking over my shoulder and the kicker is that you just shit in my pants. I don’t believe this! What a day. What a fucking day! First my wife wets the bed and now you shit my pants. Next you’re going to tell me that my son was the one who pissed in my bowl of Cheerios. Get out of here, Jenkins. Leave the door open too. And bring me some wet naps!

 

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