Post by Jimmy The Lock on Feb 13, 2011 1:08:42 GMT -4
It is approximately 11:50 A.M at C.R.A.P enterprises. In about ten minutes shit is about to get real. We are on the cusp of the most significant moment moment in any corporate pen pushing yuppie's day: The lunch hour. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, at noon all hell breaks loose and it's every man for himself. It becomes zero hour, and all ties are severed. A soft tick of the clock striking twelve echoes throughout the building like a shot from a starter pistol, and thirty starving desk monkeys begin charging like a herd of deranged zombie cattle on a blood stained collision course to the break room. In all my years as a booming voiced narrator, i have never seen such carnage. Eyes gouged over turns at the microwave. Knock down drag out brawls over rights to the last bit of ketchup in the communal refridgerator. This is a dark side of the corporate world that nobody wants to see.
Unfotunately, C.R.A.P CEO and current IWC Insane World Champion James Chambers doen't have that problem. He has his own private sub-zero mini-fridge that cost $1,500. (Amina actually bought it on clearance at K-Mart for fifty bucks and spray painted it silver, but he doesn't need to know that.) And in this magic temple of food storing gold waits a healthy serving of Momma Chamber's world famous barbecue ribs. Over the weekend James traveled back home to Alabama for his father's 65th birthday. In his honor, a barbecue was held (as if blacks need an excuse to barbecue) and James was able to steal a slab of ribs off the grill as Biff distracted momma with magic tricks from his Criss Angel play set.
tick...tick...12:00
The pounding footsteps of hungry employees stampeding through the hallways causes the walls the vibrate.
James: God forgive me for what i'm about to do to these ribs.
James shuffles to the fridge, and opens the door. He grabs the white styrofoam tray, and flips the top open, to find....
James: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Nothing.
One hour later.....
We arrive at the conference room, where we see all C.R.A.P's staff seated at the round table. Everyone except James.
Noah Riboflavin: Does anyone know why we're here?
Amina Wallace: Somebody must have used his private bathroom again.
Crystal Mendoza: Or maybe they found drugs in the breakroom....again.
All eyes shift to Andy Patel.
Andy Patel: What the fuck you guys looking at me for? I'm on probation.
Silence....
Andy Patel: They didn't really find any, did they? They bringing drug dogs?
Still, silence....
Andy Patel: Oh, fuck a bunch of that shit, that's an automatic 6 months in county!
Andy gets up and hightails it out of the office.
Biff Riboflavin: Whatever it is, it must be important. Jimmy would never pull us away from our work for something small.
Dirty looks from all directions fly at the notoriously naive Biff Riboflavin.
Derek Chambers: Oh, really? What about the time he called 911 because he stubbed his toe?
Daniel Tan: Or how about the time he planned that self defense seminar and assumed that i'd teach it because i'm Asian?
Uncle Matthew: O whadda bout da time he sent Noah to Wal-mart at 3 a.m fo hot sauce?
Noah: Actually, that was you Uncle Matthew.
Just then, the door to conference room flies open, and an angry James Chambers storms in and slams it shut. He walks to the front of the room and commands everyone's attention.
James: I bet you're all wondering why you're all here, aren't you?
Responses varying from "No, not me" to "Of course not, Jimmy" are grumbled in reply.
James: Shut the fuck up!
The room falls deathly quiet.
James: I heard you all outside. And fuck you, Derek. My toe was severely bruised and had i not called 911, my foot could have been amputated. But that's not why i called this meeting. Around 12:00 this afternoon, i discovered that someone, one of you, snuck into my office and absconded with my lunch, and i want to know which one of you is responsible!
Derek Chambers mouths "i told you so" to Daniel Tan, who winks in return.
Amina: Mr. Chambers, how long will this take? I have to pick up my son from school.
James: We'll be done when we're done, Bitch!
A collective gasp silences the room, as James instantly realizes the error he made in calling a black woman a bitch.
Amina: Excuse me?!
James: Um, i meant...um...you can go. Hurry up.
Amina gives James another piercing stare.
James: Erm..Take the rest of the day off. And take tomorrow off if you want, too. Just please don't take off your earrings.
An agitated Amina grabs her purse and storms out of the room glaring a hole in James the whole way through. Once she leaves, James puffs up again with fury.
James: So nobody's going to 'fess up, eh? You know, whoever did this is no better than Hitler himself! A lying, thieveing, pork swindling Hitler! But i've got the remedy.
James unlocks a trunk which he carried into the room. He reaches into it and pulls out a long length of thick iron chain and drops it on the conference table.
Ashley Tumbleston: Kinky.
Crystal Mendoza: Mr. Chambers, what is that?
James: What does it look like? We takin' it back 1907 up in this bitch!
James lifts up the chain off the table and holds it up for the entire room to see.
James: Starting tomorrow, you will have one arm and one leg chained to your desk! Yes, Jerry. Even you
Jerry Patterson: But i'm the janitor.
James: Fuck. Er...um...okay. You'll be chained to your mop and bucket.
Noah: What if we have to go to the bathroom?
James holds up a small white piece of paper.
James: Then you will fill out this facilites use request form, on which you will state the nature of your bathroom visit, to do number one or number two. You will check other if you have to change your tampon or do some blow. If i deem the request legit, then Matthew, who will be in charge of the keys and unlocking the chains, will make his way to your desk to free you.
Noah: Wait, you're putting Matthew in charge of the keys? He gorges on junk food all morning and then crashes in his office for the rest of the day when his sugar buzz wears off!
James: Point taken. Biff, you're in charge of the keys.
Almost everyone groans. Biff pumps his fist in excitement.
Biff: Woot!
James: Also, another thing.
James pulls a stack of cards from his jacket.
James: Take one, pass them around.
Derek Chambers: What?
Noah: Hall passes?
James: Yep. When moving throughout the complex, you must have this. If you don't, i don't know who you are. Therefore, i will be forced to have my loyal team of security guards to throw you out on your ass and taser you till you crap your pants.
A knock comes at the door.
James: Speaking of my faithful security guards....
James opens the door to let in Flynt Cutler and Walter Rice, building security.
Flynt: Mr. Chambers, we have the security tape from your office.
A nervous hush falls over the room.
James: I hope we have a holiday hunger drive box, because someone's about to get canned!
An awkward silence follows that stale ass joke.....
James: You guys get that? Because hunger drives are usually...canned..foods...?
Derek: Not even.
Ashley: Seriously, who writes this crap?
To be continued.....
I make mistakes, i admit that. Players fuck up. And last week, i made a huge tactical error in assuming that scum fuck Bitch Cyrus and his cronie She-Bon would play fair and ended up getting about fifteen shots to the dome for my troubles. But i'm not mad, because Cyrus isn't going to be a problem too much longer. He thinks he has the mental edge, but what he's really done is fucked up things for Rico Casteel, the poor soul who will bear the full brunt of my rage over his cowardly actions. So let's talk about Rico, then, shall we?
Ever since he's gotten that strap around his waist, he's been tearing shit up, which is no surprise, since he already had a mean streak to begin with. I like you Rico, i see alot of myself in you. You've got agression about you that makes you one of the most feared guys in the locker room. You're good with weapons, and yot dynamite in your hands. Hell, If you were about a foot shorter, a few shades darker and just a little bit more good looking we'd be the same person. But, make no mistake, that's not going to save you from getting your teeth kicked in, because mutual respect only goes so far. I'm a businessman first, and i have a job to do.
With all that we have in common Rico, we differ in many ways also. For one, you're the Suicidal Champion, while i'm the IWC Insane Heavyweight Champion Of The World. Meaning, You have a title, but i have the title. You're a soldier in your army, and i'm the general in mine. I'm what some might call the "H.N.I.C".... and if you don't know what that means, look it up. Simply put, i'm the leading man in my production, whereas you're more of a background character in yours. You pride yourself on being a "loose cannon", only moving forward and mowing down anything and everything in your path with a full head of steam. I'm not knocking your style, it is indeed effective when you're pitted against the likes of Delilah or Nate Bishop, two worthless shit stained footprints of a greased hog not worthy of mention even in this context.
But when you're placed against a tactician like myself, a man known for being able to take it as well as he dishes it out, and believe me, i dish it out in sizable portions, well then you've got yourself a problem. That uber-aggressive macho man mad dog bullshit ain't going to work on me, not one little bit. You are up against the best this company has ever seen. You're not scrounging for peanuts on the undercard this week, you're in the main event, and if you have a strategy that even remotely resembles what you've been putting out over the last two months, then you don't even have to step in the ring to know that you've lost already.
And this isn't to say that i'm underestimating you, but let's be honest, anything you can do, i can do ten times better. I know that's a hard truth to accept, but it's truth nonetheless. You might be the man someday, but i'm the man right now. And that means as long as i'm around, you, Chris Cyrus, Ebitch and everybody else will merely be second best. This is going to be great exposure for you, and a great confidence booster, and nothing more. As soon as that bell sounds, i'm going to be on your ass like the IRS, and then we're going to see what Rico Casteel is like when he's backed into a corner with no room to breathe.
I'm prepared for a war, Rico, and i don't expect anything less. I got a reputation to protect, and i refuse to let you come into my main event and upstage me. I own Long Island, and the IWC arena is my house. This is officially the biggest moment of your entire career, so what are you going to do? Are you going to step out of the exchange rate's shadow? Or are you going to prove me right. I'm betting my money on the former. I'm going to pummel your ass from bell to bell and ride into Blood, Sweat, and Broken teeth on a fucking white horse.
Unfotunately, C.R.A.P CEO and current IWC Insane World Champion James Chambers doen't have that problem. He has his own private sub-zero mini-fridge that cost $1,500. (Amina actually bought it on clearance at K-Mart for fifty bucks and spray painted it silver, but he doesn't need to know that.) And in this magic temple of food storing gold waits a healthy serving of Momma Chamber's world famous barbecue ribs. Over the weekend James traveled back home to Alabama for his father's 65th birthday. In his honor, a barbecue was held (as if blacks need an excuse to barbecue) and James was able to steal a slab of ribs off the grill as Biff distracted momma with magic tricks from his Criss Angel play set.
tick...tick...12:00
The pounding footsteps of hungry employees stampeding through the hallways causes the walls the vibrate.
James: God forgive me for what i'm about to do to these ribs.
James shuffles to the fridge, and opens the door. He grabs the white styrofoam tray, and flips the top open, to find....
James: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Nothing.
One hour later.....
We arrive at the conference room, where we see all C.R.A.P's staff seated at the round table. Everyone except James.
Noah Riboflavin: Does anyone know why we're here?
Amina Wallace: Somebody must have used his private bathroom again.
Crystal Mendoza: Or maybe they found drugs in the breakroom....again.
All eyes shift to Andy Patel.
Andy Patel: What the fuck you guys looking at me for? I'm on probation.
Silence....
Andy Patel: They didn't really find any, did they? They bringing drug dogs?
Still, silence....
Andy Patel: Oh, fuck a bunch of that shit, that's an automatic 6 months in county!
Andy gets up and hightails it out of the office.
Biff Riboflavin: Whatever it is, it must be important. Jimmy would never pull us away from our work for something small.
Dirty looks from all directions fly at the notoriously naive Biff Riboflavin.
Derek Chambers: Oh, really? What about the time he called 911 because he stubbed his toe?
Daniel Tan: Or how about the time he planned that self defense seminar and assumed that i'd teach it because i'm Asian?
Uncle Matthew: O whadda bout da time he sent Noah to Wal-mart at 3 a.m fo hot sauce?
Noah: Actually, that was you Uncle Matthew.
Just then, the door to conference room flies open, and an angry James Chambers storms in and slams it shut. He walks to the front of the room and commands everyone's attention.
James: I bet you're all wondering why you're all here, aren't you?
Responses varying from "No, not me" to "Of course not, Jimmy" are grumbled in reply.
James: Shut the fuck up!
The room falls deathly quiet.
James: I heard you all outside. And fuck you, Derek. My toe was severely bruised and had i not called 911, my foot could have been amputated. But that's not why i called this meeting. Around 12:00 this afternoon, i discovered that someone, one of you, snuck into my office and absconded with my lunch, and i want to know which one of you is responsible!
Derek Chambers mouths "i told you so" to Daniel Tan, who winks in return.
Amina: Mr. Chambers, how long will this take? I have to pick up my son from school.
James: We'll be done when we're done, Bitch!
A collective gasp silences the room, as James instantly realizes the error he made in calling a black woman a bitch.
Amina: Excuse me?!
James: Um, i meant...um...you can go. Hurry up.
Amina gives James another piercing stare.
James: Erm..Take the rest of the day off. And take tomorrow off if you want, too. Just please don't take off your earrings.
An agitated Amina grabs her purse and storms out of the room glaring a hole in James the whole way through. Once she leaves, James puffs up again with fury.
James: So nobody's going to 'fess up, eh? You know, whoever did this is no better than Hitler himself! A lying, thieveing, pork swindling Hitler! But i've got the remedy.
James unlocks a trunk which he carried into the room. He reaches into it and pulls out a long length of thick iron chain and drops it on the conference table.
Ashley Tumbleston: Kinky.
Crystal Mendoza: Mr. Chambers, what is that?
James: What does it look like? We takin' it back 1907 up in this bitch!
James lifts up the chain off the table and holds it up for the entire room to see.
James: Starting tomorrow, you will have one arm and one leg chained to your desk! Yes, Jerry. Even you
Jerry Patterson: But i'm the janitor.
James: Fuck. Er...um...okay. You'll be chained to your mop and bucket.
Noah: What if we have to go to the bathroom?
James holds up a small white piece of paper.
James: Then you will fill out this facilites use request form, on which you will state the nature of your bathroom visit, to do number one or number two. You will check other if you have to change your tampon or do some blow. If i deem the request legit, then Matthew, who will be in charge of the keys and unlocking the chains, will make his way to your desk to free you.
Noah: Wait, you're putting Matthew in charge of the keys? He gorges on junk food all morning and then crashes in his office for the rest of the day when his sugar buzz wears off!
James: Point taken. Biff, you're in charge of the keys.
Almost everyone groans. Biff pumps his fist in excitement.
Biff: Woot!
James: Also, another thing.
James pulls a stack of cards from his jacket.
James: Take one, pass them around.
Derek Chambers: What?
Noah: Hall passes?
James: Yep. When moving throughout the complex, you must have this. If you don't, i don't know who you are. Therefore, i will be forced to have my loyal team of security guards to throw you out on your ass and taser you till you crap your pants.
A knock comes at the door.
James: Speaking of my faithful security guards....
James opens the door to let in Flynt Cutler and Walter Rice, building security.
Flynt: Mr. Chambers, we have the security tape from your office.
A nervous hush falls over the room.
James: I hope we have a holiday hunger drive box, because someone's about to get canned!
An awkward silence follows that stale ass joke.....
James: You guys get that? Because hunger drives are usually...canned..foods...?
Derek: Not even.
Ashley: Seriously, who writes this crap?
To be continued.....
I make mistakes, i admit that. Players fuck up. And last week, i made a huge tactical error in assuming that scum fuck Bitch Cyrus and his cronie She-Bon would play fair and ended up getting about fifteen shots to the dome for my troubles. But i'm not mad, because Cyrus isn't going to be a problem too much longer. He thinks he has the mental edge, but what he's really done is fucked up things for Rico Casteel, the poor soul who will bear the full brunt of my rage over his cowardly actions. So let's talk about Rico, then, shall we?
Ever since he's gotten that strap around his waist, he's been tearing shit up, which is no surprise, since he already had a mean streak to begin with. I like you Rico, i see alot of myself in you. You've got agression about you that makes you one of the most feared guys in the locker room. You're good with weapons, and yot dynamite in your hands. Hell, If you were about a foot shorter, a few shades darker and just a little bit more good looking we'd be the same person. But, make no mistake, that's not going to save you from getting your teeth kicked in, because mutual respect only goes so far. I'm a businessman first, and i have a job to do.
With all that we have in common Rico, we differ in many ways also. For one, you're the Suicidal Champion, while i'm the IWC Insane Heavyweight Champion Of The World. Meaning, You have a title, but i have the title. You're a soldier in your army, and i'm the general in mine. I'm what some might call the "H.N.I.C".... and if you don't know what that means, look it up. Simply put, i'm the leading man in my production, whereas you're more of a background character in yours. You pride yourself on being a "loose cannon", only moving forward and mowing down anything and everything in your path with a full head of steam. I'm not knocking your style, it is indeed effective when you're pitted against the likes of Delilah or Nate Bishop, two worthless shit stained footprints of a greased hog not worthy of mention even in this context.
But when you're placed against a tactician like myself, a man known for being able to take it as well as he dishes it out, and believe me, i dish it out in sizable portions, well then you've got yourself a problem. That uber-aggressive macho man mad dog bullshit ain't going to work on me, not one little bit. You are up against the best this company has ever seen. You're not scrounging for peanuts on the undercard this week, you're in the main event, and if you have a strategy that even remotely resembles what you've been putting out over the last two months, then you don't even have to step in the ring to know that you've lost already.
And this isn't to say that i'm underestimating you, but let's be honest, anything you can do, i can do ten times better. I know that's a hard truth to accept, but it's truth nonetheless. You might be the man someday, but i'm the man right now. And that means as long as i'm around, you, Chris Cyrus, Ebitch and everybody else will merely be second best. This is going to be great exposure for you, and a great confidence booster, and nothing more. As soon as that bell sounds, i'm going to be on your ass like the IRS, and then we're going to see what Rico Casteel is like when he's backed into a corner with no room to breathe.
I'm prepared for a war, Rico, and i don't expect anything less. I got a reputation to protect, and i refuse to let you come into my main event and upstage me. I own Long Island, and the IWC arena is my house. This is officially the biggest moment of your entire career, so what are you going to do? Are you going to step out of the exchange rate's shadow? Or are you going to prove me right. I'm betting my money on the former. I'm going to pummel your ass from bell to bell and ride into Blood, Sweat, and Broken teeth on a fucking white horse.
