Some jobs warrant universal credit, Nurses for example (not the horrible ones that don’t really understand the whole treating old people with respect thing and beat the living fuck out of them) Firemen, nothing conjures up a more heroic image than that of a fireman emerging from a burning building with the family pet to cheers, even if they have left the majority of the humans inside burning up and whistling like a summer BBQ (I’ve even got a few bits of charcoal in my drawer at work, if there was ever a fire, I’m going to hold someone back (against their will), draw the charcoal smears over my face and emerge from the building topless, smeared in melting butter (to simulate sweat) looking every inch a hero, parading back and forth with the “damsel in distress” looking for TV cameras, I will put their struggling down to smoke inhalation or possibly a butter allergy? And School Teachers, the ones who don’t finger underage pupils (those are usually the history or chemistry teachers for reasons unbeknownst to me?).
Some jobs on the other hand, just inspire revulsion in people, utter hatred, to the point where a crowd would happily interrupt a perfectly good lunch break to watch them slowly stoned to death by a muscular mob, seeing them crack open like an organic kinder egg, not even stopping eating a sandwich while brain chunks were beaten out (unless it was a meatball sandwich from Subway, that looks well like brains and shit). Politicians, lying thieving self important soulless shit cunts, traffic wardens, nasty merciless little turdlings, picked for their extremely punchable faces and annoying pinched jobs-worth arsehole mouths. The wankers who teach professional courses, sake of it courses designed for employers with too much money, an example was £795 + vat to send an employee on a “time management course” to be told such gems from the frumpy failed something or other tutor as “well, if you get up at 8.30 and your job starts at 9.30, and it takes you more than an hour to get ready and get to work, maybe you should consider getting up earlier” – Yeah, cheers for that you dumpy little piss pump. “If you’ve got 10 things to do, you need to arrange them in an order so you can put the most important ones at the top” – I CANT DO THAT, IM A CUNT, THAT’S WHY IM ON THIS FUCKING COURSE!!! – As you can probably tell, I’ve been on one, I came away feeling nothing more than the fact that the day I’d spent out of the office had probably caused me a backlog at work?
Other courses are just as wasteful, if you need to send a manager on a leadership skills course, well, you’ve fucked up haven’t you, sack them, then yourself, cheers, laters. “Train the trainer”, “Communication skills” – If you need to consider sending your staff on these, consider new staff, which leads me nicely to one of the lowest of the low, the true scum of the employed world, yes you lot, you fucking arseholes, you are the parasites of parasites, the lowest of the low, rivalled only by Estate agents in your general shitness, yes I’m talking about you recruitment agents, I’d suffer the daily pain of huge tentacle like haemorrhoids than work in the recruitment industry, an entire job built on lies, deceit, deception and greed.
As you read this blog, recruitment agents sit down for meals and possibly a glass of wine, reflecting over the days blags, clients duped, wankers placed, fees paid before snuffling down for 8 hours sleep, while people starve to death on the other side of the world, a little life is being snubbed out right now while one of these fucks draws another breath, the very raising of their diaphragm concrete evidence at just how unfair the world is.
These cretins will barely meet with someone, if at all, before sending the poor hapless twat-tard down to an office to waste an hour of everyone’s time in a pointless interview. An example of this is describing someone as dynamic when the only criteria in a recruitment agents eyes to tick this box is the ability to breathe independent of machines, and even if the poor cunt is on an iron lung, they will describe that as “technologically clued up. “Sleeves rolled up approach” – a fucking giant, some frontal lobe tard who can not get normal earthling clothes to fit. “Can do attitude? Sounds like a kid’s toilet training aid?
The only group of people who can possibly rival the recruitment agent in terms of fantasy descriptions of things are estate agents. The jokes have all been done before, but every day I go past a large foxtons (or fuckstons as I call them, or Cuntstons, or fuckcuntstons), their fridge full of still or sparkling small glass bottles of mineral water and arrangements of different coloured citrus fruit slowly rotting in decorative impractical receptacles, and huge flatscreens with slide shows of the unaffordable flashing across to most people. Every day when I go past I get an urge to do a huge hateful turd right outside the door, the trouble is, it would be so hateful that this turd would probably come out with such force and quantity that they would sun dry it and turn it into an organic earthy annex to their office and have drum beating, team building events in there, eventually selling it to some overpaid Hoxton prick type for about £225, 000, for one of my turds.
When my bowel doesn’t flex when I walk past, the other fantasy that plays out in my head is throwing a couple of grenades in while they have their morning team meeting at the back, they are so snidy though, they probably have a system in place where the person with the lowest commission has to jump on it and the greater cockroaches not only survive, but probably end up liking the new half blown to fuck office, with its new “Beirut chic” make over, making them more happier and productive.
In short, I think I would rather deal with a nerve agent than one of the above agents.
The only other group of people who come close to above are people who work in advertising, not all advertising people (unlike the above two, there are exceptions in this group), but the ones whose job it is to sit and come up with annoying characters, jingles, songs, the sorts of things that when you are in the wrong mood can just tip you over, I don’t know if you are aware, but the Halifax ad was responsible for the Boxing day Tsunami, there was such a concentration of anger at the first airing of the “Isa Isa Baby” ad, that it resulted in a reverse of the magnetic thingy on the stuff and then the big wave thing happened. “We buy any car” was apparently the “buckaroo” moment for Raoul Moat. Al Qaeda allegedly only formed because of the “Go Compare” adverts.
Worse than all of these, my twitter account was recently closed in rage at seeing the Meerkat from the shitty adverts on there. What next for this torn to shreds campaign, a lady going for a check up “down there” and that furry cunt coming up with a swab saying something like “Compare the smear cat – No, compare the Meer-ket, no, I meant Market, simples (they will nick that now, you watch)”
You cant blame these wankers for having the ability to tune in to what makes us remember products and wind up the majority in the process, you cant blame them, but they are flammable, so you can set them on fire, and watch them burn, a good idea is to douse them in some water first so they burn a bit slower, you can also pour vinegar on them while they do as this will take away the rancid smell as they slowly roast in their own guilt and lies. You could be sure that I certainly wouldn’t piss on them***
You may go to hell for the act of burning someone alive, but even in the wildest estimations and Sunday School fear mongerings, the devil must have some sort of conscience and will probably pull you to one side and congratulate you with a hoofy slap on the back and probably give you a few hours off a day from the eternity of slow burning torture.
*Right, just to be clear, please don’t actually go out burning these people, that would be wrong, but if one/some just happened to be walking past your house and you threw a lit cigarette out of the window (shortly after a pint of petrol) and one or two did go up, don’t beat yourself up, its no loss, these people are not even welcome at their own parents houses for being utter failures and “walking abortions”.
**Right, just to be doubly clear, the hatred in this blog has obviously been exaggerated for literary reasons, and in no way do I hate any human soul to the level described above, but if I was driving along in a Combine Harvester and some of them were walking across the field I was harvesting, and they did get caught up in the blades and died screaming, I’d sleep, it might take a while but life would go on.
*** Just to clear something up, on the whole subject of pissing on someone if they were on fire, if I was standing over a burning advertising/recruitment/ estate agent and trying to piss and nothing was coming out, this would have nothing to do with me holding back and being all urine selfish, I would happily do a horse piss over one of them in any state of enflamement, they would just have to be unconscious because of the pain of fire, or at least look away, I have a problem going while people watch.
Fuck me, so much for the new happier approach to life..
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