I once missed out on an awesome job because of my activity on this site and, more specifically, The Order.
"Don't get me wrong," said the big chief of the company. "It's not because of all the sexual innuendo in your posts on No Lubricants Allowed that I can't hire you."
"You mean No Mutants Allowed, right?" I corrected him.
"Yes, yes, of course, No Mutants Allowed," he said. "Sexual innuendo is normal. It's healthy. God knows I like me some assfuckery and CBT any day. But it's the fact that you are getting married to a girl you don't seem to like or respect and... that you only seem to be marrying her because you knocked the poor girl up and she refused to have an abortion."
"Oh, dude, chill," I said, doing my utmost best not to burst into laughter. "You don't understand, man, those are lies. I just make up stories like that continuously. It's fun. And those fuckers at NMA never suspect anything so that's double fun for me, you know?"
"Yes," said the chief, "yes, yes, yes, I see, but that doesn't change my - our - decision to not hire you. Lying isn't exactly a trait we admire around here."
"Oh," I said and I sighed heavily.
"But don't be disappointed," he said, "I'm sure you would have hated it here. I've read on No Lubricants Allowed..."
"No Mutants Allowed," I said. I felt sorry for interrupting the man again, but I can't stand errors like that, especially not when they are reoccuring.
"Yes, yes, No Mutants Allowed," he said. "I've read over there that you started to really hate women's feet because of some misadventure with a fat, smelly chick or something. And see: our new policy is that all women in this company have to work barefooted and visit our own company's pedicure on a daily basis. You'd hate that, I'm sure. French pedicures all around and in Summer that daily visit to the pedicure is rarely sufficient. Feminine foot odours all around then. Would be hell for a man like you, I'm sure."
"No, dude, no, seriously, that story about the fat, smelly chick was a lie as well, " I said, "I love women's feet. I simply adore them. They're awesome. That and assfuckery, great stuff, love it. Trust me."
"Yes, well, I'm sorry," the man said, "it seems to me that all you ever do is make up stories to amuse yourself and I - we - this company - doesn't appreciate that much. We are after all a company that specializes in truth. Political truth. We can't use liars around here. I'm sorry."
"But... aren't politicians supposed to be major liars?" I said. "A man with my talents could perform wonders around here. The masses would swallow each titbit that comes out of my peni... I mean, pen."
"I... I have no idea where you heard that," the man said. He was starting to sweat heavily at this point, reaching for his handkerchief to wipe his forehead, his eyes twitching. "Ha... haha... well..."
"Politics is all about lies, man, everyone knows that, "I said. "And I can lie like the best, it's a genetic thing, I'm probably a grade A pathological liar and..."
"Look," the man interrupted me. "Look over there! A golden sparrow carrying a bag of diamonds," he said and he pointed out the window.
I turned my head immediately, but I couldn't see a thing.
"Hey, wait a minute," I said and turned around again.
The man was gone. The desk had been miraculously replaced by an old, seemingly quite comfortable sofa. In the right corner of the room a television was playing an old movie starring Marlon Brando. It was night. The faint smell of a woman's feet caressed my nostrils.
"Grab me another beer out of the fridge, will you dear?" I said.
"Go grab it yourself, you lazy drunk," I heard a woman say.
THE END
"Don't get me wrong," said the big chief of the company. "It's not because of all the sexual innuendo in your posts on No Lubricants Allowed that I can't hire you."
"You mean No Mutants Allowed, right?" I corrected him.
"Yes, yes, of course, No Mutants Allowed," he said. "Sexual innuendo is normal. It's healthy. God knows I like me some assfuckery and CBT any day. But it's the fact that you are getting married to a girl you don't seem to like or respect and... that you only seem to be marrying her because you knocked the poor girl up and she refused to have an abortion."
"Oh, dude, chill," I said, doing my utmost best not to burst into laughter. "You don't understand, man, those are lies. I just make up stories like that continuously. It's fun. And those fuckers at NMA never suspect anything so that's double fun for me, you know?"
"Yes," said the chief, "yes, yes, yes, I see, but that doesn't change my - our - decision to not hire you. Lying isn't exactly a trait we admire around here."
"Oh," I said and I sighed heavily.
"But don't be disappointed," he said, "I'm sure you would have hated it here. I've read on No Lubricants Allowed..."
"No Mutants Allowed," I said. I felt sorry for interrupting the man again, but I can't stand errors like that, especially not when they are reoccuring.
"Yes, yes, No Mutants Allowed," he said. "I've read over there that you started to really hate women's feet because of some misadventure with a fat, smelly chick or something. And see: our new policy is that all women in this company have to work barefooted and visit our own company's pedicure on a daily basis. You'd hate that, I'm sure. French pedicures all around and in Summer that daily visit to the pedicure is rarely sufficient. Feminine foot odours all around then. Would be hell for a man like you, I'm sure."
"No, dude, no, seriously, that story about the fat, smelly chick was a lie as well, " I said, "I love women's feet. I simply adore them. They're awesome. That and assfuckery, great stuff, love it. Trust me."
"Yes, well, I'm sorry," the man said, "it seems to me that all you ever do is make up stories to amuse yourself and I - we - this company - doesn't appreciate that much. We are after all a company that specializes in truth. Political truth. We can't use liars around here. I'm sorry."
"But... aren't politicians supposed to be major liars?" I said. "A man with my talents could perform wonders around here. The masses would swallow each titbit that comes out of my peni... I mean, pen."
"I... I have no idea where you heard that," the man said. He was starting to sweat heavily at this point, reaching for his handkerchief to wipe his forehead, his eyes twitching. "Ha... haha... well..."
"Politics is all about lies, man, everyone knows that, "I said. "And I can lie like the best, it's a genetic thing, I'm probably a grade A pathological liar and..."
"Look," the man interrupted me. "Look over there! A golden sparrow carrying a bag of diamonds," he said and he pointed out the window.
I turned my head immediately, but I couldn't see a thing.
"Hey, wait a minute," I said and turned around again.
The man was gone. The desk had been miraculously replaced by an old, seemingly quite comfortable sofa. In the right corner of the room a television was playing an old movie starring Marlon Brando. It was night. The faint smell of a woman's feet caressed my nostrils.
"Grab me another beer out of the fridge, will you dear?" I said.
"Go grab it yourself, you lazy drunk," I heard a woman say.
THE END
