I Be The Real Employee Of The Month

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I Be The Real Employee Of The Month

Yo yo yo yo, whassssuuup, G's. H-Dog in tha house, and you'll pardon me if I dispense with the usual formalities, but I'm out for muthafuckin' REVENGE. You see, some dirty cocksucka dared fuck with me, Tha Stone Cold Funky-Fresh Bad-Ass Of Accountz Reeceevable. I swear, before I sign out for lunch today I'm gonna Hong Kong on that sorry fool's ass. I'm gonna cut him a permanent smile wit' my Letter Opener Of Death. I'm serious. Heads will get flown.

The shit came down yesterday morning, when Gerald Luckenbill, head comptroller at Midstate Office Supply, called a big-ass meeting to announce the Employee Of Tha Month. I figure, this meetin' gonna be real short, 'cause everybody knows who be the best employee at Midstate Office Supply—ME. Hell, I already got me so many Employee Of Tha Month plaques on my desk, I need a bigger muthafuckin' cubicle.

So you know what that bitch-ass Luckenbill do? He give the muthafuckin' Employee Of Tha Month plaque to muthafuckin' Phil Weinstein from customer muthafuckin' service. Luckenbill say Weinstein got chosen because of "his outstanding service to the company and the gracious and courteous manner in which he always treats the customers." That's bullshit, man. Weinstein only got chose Employee Of Tha Month 'cause his supervisor, Sandra Schumacher, wanna ride his cock.

I don't need no dust-crotch supervisor ho wantin' to freak my ass, 'cause I be my own muthafuckin' supervisor, and I don't answer to nobody. I be the real Employee Of Tha Month. Everybody think, ol' Herbert, he don't deserve no Employee Of Tha Month award. He ain't got no shit on nobody. But think again, suckas.

Shit gets done when I'm around. Ain't nobody balance more spreadsheets in a pay period than me. I coordinate the second-shift check-processing schedule like a mother fuck. Bills be sent. I even do shit I don't need to do. Like when Rose Powell, that head payroll bitch from Human Resources, quit, I helped that department out, 'cause Human Resources manager Bob Cowan don't know shit about payroll and woulda fucked it all up. All this, and I'm goin' to night school. I be just three credits away from my two-year accounting degree, and Midstate be payin' my tuition, besides.

If that all wasn't enough, the second-floor vendin' machine even stopped servin' up them nasty muthafuckin' nut rolls 'cause of me. You see, last Tuesday, the man from Karlsen Vending came by to restock the vending machine, and I said to him, "You better stop loadin' this thing with them skank-ass Pearson's Nut Rolls if you know what's good for you, cocksucka." And just like that, he stopped. Why? 'Cause he shit-scared of me. He knows I gots the Kung Fu grip. And I gots so much dead presidents in my pocket from workin' all that overtime last Christmas season, when this fiscal year is through I'm gonna take me a long vacation and chill out with some of my bitches in Branson, MO.

I'm so good, I even got this one motherfuckin' delinquent account that's been in our files for months to pay the fuck up. That's right. See, one day, I was readin' the newspaper, and I saw this legal notice sayin' that the fucka who owed us all this cash was goin' bankrupt, and that any creditors who were owed money by him had best make theyselves known wit' a quickness. So I tell that Luckenbill about it, he calls our lawyer, and, before you know it, Midstate Office Supply gets this check for $4,130 in the mail. That bitch got wrote off. Uh huh. So when I says I superbad, I ain't just blowin' shit out my ass. H-Dog gots tha flava.

Luckenbill said he gonna recommend I get a raise for my swift resolvin' of that delinquent account, but I told him, "Don't do me no damn favors, L, 'cause I gots me a score to settle." It's payback time for that Weinstein asshole. He ain't even been with the company a year, and he think he can hustle in on my award. Guess again, punk. I'm gonna jump in my fly hoopty and run this cocksucka down like a fuckin' dog. Weinstein's eyes gonna be buggin' when he sees my 1981 Buick Regal, a.k.a. Tha Nite Ridahh, comin' up on his sorry ass in the employee parking lot. Pow! I'm gonna take him out like I'm muthafuckin' Scarface, man.

Daddy H over and OUT. But before I go, I wanna send some shout-outs to my homies around the office, and all the other righteous folks who be down with the H-Dog: my posse in Accountz Reeceevable, Gary, Linda, and Gladys; Ruth B. down in Inventory; tha Extra-Strength Disciples in Accounting; Janitor X; the whole gang over at Snap-Rite Corporation, makers of funky-dope spreadsheets and fly file folders; them cafeteria bitches Theresa and Donna; and Principles Of Accounting, Volume 4. Peace.


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