Heads up, G's, 'cuz tha H-Dog is in tha house, keepin' it real at Midstate Office Supply, tha largest wholesale dealer of office supplies and business machines in tha entire muthafuckin' Tri-State Area.

Ain't no other office-supply wholesaler tha H-Dog would work for, and thas no muthafuckin' lie. Say some sucka from Office Depot step up to me and tell me, if you want a job in our Accountz Reeceevable Department wit' good pay, holiday bonuses and comprehensive health coverage and dental plan and shit, it be yours for the taking. I'd say, flag yo' red-polo-shirt-wearin' ass outta my face before I Charles Bronson upside yo' bitch head, muthafucka. Office Depot can go fuck theyselves, 'cuz Midstate is tha BOMB.

You see, at Midstate Office Supply, I gots seniority and respect. People be lookin' to tha H-Dog when they wants shit done right. Tha office comptrolla, Gerald Luckenbill, couldn't balance his muthafuckin' books without me. My Accountz Reeceevable Posse, Gary and Gladys, they call me Tha Troubleshoota, 'cuz ain't nobody figure shit out faster.

I gots skillz, muthafuckas. Shit be COLLATED. Copier out of toner? I be all over that shit, 'cuz only I can replace tha Hewlett-Packard toner cartridge without gettin' all that inky powder shit all over tha insides.

I so phat, sometimes I gets done with my whole day's worth of tasks by 2 or 3 o'clock. But after I do, do I go back to my crib and chill? Hell no. I just open up tha afternoon mail what I usually be going through tha next mornin', and I start enterin' tha account payments on my accounts ledga. Or I assists tha Posse in preparin' the monthly statements. You won't never catch tha H-Dog sleepin' on tha job, bruthas and sistas.

But, yo, check this shit out. Last Friday, Bob Cowan in Human Resources, he say I gots to kick back and chill for a coupla weeks, 'cuz I gots a buncha paid vacation days accruing and shit. Now, at first I tells him hell no, 'cuz I gots bidness to take care of at tha office. Besides, I got it good at Midstate Office Supply. I gots my dope Lotus software, my stoopid-fresh dry-erase markers, my fly three-ring binders wit' tha pockets inside, and my own muthafuckin' men's-room key. Plus, all them fly Marketing Department hos wanna be freakin' my jock all tha time.

But Cowan, he say all employees gotta use they paid vacation time by the end of the year, or they lose it. So I just laughs at tha fool. "You payin' me to chill?" I says. "Man, that's some straight-up wack shit, sucka."

I be laughin', but, shit, I almost had to use my Letter Opener Of Death when I learn who be takin' my place for a week: that old-ass muthafucka Myron Schabe, tha Accountz Payable supervisor. Man, he belong in tha old people's home, wearin' diapers and shit, but instead he be fuckin' wit' my flow and wantin' a piece of tha Accountz Reeceevable action. But then I gots to thinkin': If Myron fuck shit up, who they gonna call? Me. Thas right. Any way you cuts it, I gots them fuckas by tha BALLS.

So, come Monday, instead of goin' to work, I jus' be chillin' at my crib, livin' large and shit. I gots this dope one-bedroom apartment near tha interstate, and, man, it be tha shit. It's all done up in muthafuckin' drywall. Ma carpet, it go from wall to wall.

But that ain't nothin' compared to the crazy phat shit I gots goin' on in my kitchenette. Now, I don't need no muthafuckin' microwave, 'cause I be from the old school. Instead, I gots me the dopest muthafuckin' hamburga sammich cooka you ever seen. You puts some hamburga in the fuckin' thing, press this black metal shit on top, plug the shit in and let it cook, and in three minutes you gots this mad stoopid cooked hamburga patty. Mix up some ramen noodles and some cherry Kool-Aid, and you gots yo'self a MEAL, homeyz.

So I be sittin' on my couch, eatin' this fly hamburga sammich off a TV tray and watchin' The Crier Report, checkin' out Catherine from all sides. Man, that ho got BACK. Bitch got tha C-cup action goin' under them rayon blouses of hers. I just about to jump into tha Nite Rida and drive down to tha TV station and sex up that fine ho when tha muthafuckin' phone rings.

Shit, man. It be muthafuckin' Gerald Luckenbill, tellin' me that the mainframe computer crashed, and tha whole muthafuckin' network be down. He say Tech Support think it be days before the computer be up and runnin' again, which means tha Accountz Reeceevable Krew gots to enter data and prepare next month's account statements by hand.

I don't needs to tell you what Luckenbill say next. "Unfortunately, with the computers down, Myron has more work than he can handle, supervising both Accounts Payable and Accounts Receivable," he tell me. "Herbert, would you possibly consider returning to work this week and helping us out until the system is up and running again? It would be a huge help."

Man, I just be laughin' at tha fool. Didn't I say all them muthafuckas gonna be slippin' while I gone? "Tough luck, sucka," I tell that sorry bitch Luckenbill. "Tha H-Dog be kickin' his shit back this week. All y'all pitiful muthafuckas po'mouth tha H-Dog, but when tha shit go down, y'all be runnin' scared and aksin' where tha H-Dog be at. Step tha fuck off, FOOL. H-Dog over and OUT." And I slams down tha phone like a hard mutha fuck.

Tha phone be ringin' ever since, but I ain't answerin'. But I just be playin' wit' them suckas and psychin' them out: I be goin' in soon enuf.

But I want all y'all to understand somethin'. I be tha NOTORIOUS BADASS MUTHAFUCKA of Midstate Office Supply, and don't never fo-get that. Fuck Gerald Luckenbill, fuck Bob Cowan, and especially fuck that sorry-ass, no-account-reeceeving Accountz Payable fool Myron Schabe. My Accountz Reeceevable Posse don't call me Tha Troubleshoota for nothin'. Suckas think I be chillin', but I gots to represent at all times, 'cuz ain't nobody else reeceeve accountz right but ME. So all y'all best recognize tha H-Dog and give him his full props, 'cuz tha H-Dog can't be faded, G's. Word.