Are you too haughty for call-centre based work, but not clever enough to work in Tesco as an assistant to the part-time shelf-stacker?
Do you enjoy being the last person to know about your company’s leaked upcoming releases and denying the veracity of said leaks even when waved in front of your face via the wonders of wireless smartphone technology?
Do you crave slavish obedience to a large, dominant super-company that denies the existence of its competitors to an almost ludicrous degree?
Do you relish being told by young, impressionable boys with spots that you have the best job ever even though it’s technically 2 pay-grades lower than ‘Wee Jock McJobby’ who cleans the public toilets in Central Station, (by hand)?
Do you have a stupid, wispy little beard that makes you look like a hermaphrodite has been muff-diving with pritt-stick on its top lip?
Do you wank in the shower before crying, or cry in the shower before wanking, or wank and cry in the shower before crying, then wanking again?
Do you speak with a lilting, sing-song accent reminiscent of an eastern-European twang that makes it difficult to accurately surmise your cultural origin while simultaneously making me want to ragdoll the fuck right out of you even more-so than guys who dress like Mumford and Sons?
Do you have the ability to stalk potential customers to such an extent that outwith the context of a retail sales environment your behaviour might justifiably warrant the court appointment of a restraining order?
|No, I DON'T want to buy a bastarding audiobook!!!|