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This is a question Bastard Colleagues

You've all known one. The brown-nosing fucker, the 'comedian', the drunk, the gossip and of course the weird one with no mates who goes bell ringing, looks like Mr Majika and sports a monk's haircut (and is a woman).

Tell us about yours...

Thanks to Deskbound for the idea

(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:09)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

The art of "making it look like I'm working my norks off when actually, I do fuck all!!"
where I work now where everyone is pretty sound and apart from a couple of jobsworths and a lot of red tape, is a pretty cool place to work.

My last job however was PC World. Again a pretty sound bunch of people except for one woman, Jackie, who upset everyone except the management (where she spent with her tongue up their arses)

Here's some of the things she got up to:

It was a new store, so everyone was new to each other. There were about 4 groups of people: management team, wide boy salesmen, technicans and customer service (who basically had all the shit jobs to do) I was a technician and worked on customer service.

New store opening and there are lots to do, shelves building and stacking, computer equipment to be set up, deliverys taken etc.

JAckie somehow convinces the manager to let her go off into town and buy some decorations for opening day. She came back 5 hours later with ONE bag of stuff, a few party poppers and streamers. Probably took her 20 minutes max to buy. She decorates the camera bar that I'd spent 2 days sweating over with these trinkets and gets a bottle of wine from senior management for "all her hard work". RAGGHGH!!

She then decides that she is above the customer service colleagues and sets herself up as a proxy customer service manager. This basically meant that she didn't have to work on the tills, or deal with customers, but walk around clutching a clipboard (with an empty piece of paper on it) ordering us about. Our lunch breaks were cut from 1hr to 45 minutes (her's were somehow extended). The worst thing was the management team thought she could do no wrong but she was playing them like a fiddle.

She then decided that she would deal with the money (takings, petty cash etc) which was ok, but this meant that she could lock herself in an office for 6 hours a day, doing a job that takes other managers 45 minutes at the most.

Of course this meant everyone else had to take up her slack!

She also decided that she could "opt out" of working Sundays (always the crappest, busiest day) as "family commitments" prevented her from working (even though her kids were all grown up). Except if there was some overtime available for sunday, she's first in the queue!!

By this time the managment team had changed and she had alienated most of her colleagues. The new managers quickly saw what she was like and started to make her do some work; this is where she got worse, micromanaging us to the point of someone putting his fist through the wall in anger. It also showed up her total lack of IT knowledge (she was a shelf stacker from Tescos in a previous job - suddenly decided she knew more than the degree educated technicians)

Her name was mentioned in every exit interview as the staff left.

Length? Any longer and I would have strangled her with it...
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 11:32, 2 replies)
was his name and it was quite apt.

He has been seen

Pissing at the urinal hands on hips and swaying from side to side.

Air trumpeting

Looking at himself in wing mirrors while pulling faces and laughing at himself

Checking all the doors, the bonnet and boot of his car before coming into work

Pulling into at least 3 different spaces before settling on one to park in.

Arguing that medical oxygen is cleaner than welding oxygen

and what I feel is his finest moment hacking a chunk out of a door frame so his first aid certificate can be hung up straight

Why not just hang it elsewhere you ask?

"thats where its meant to be"
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 11:26, Reply)
Being a freelancer has an upside and a downside in colleagues
You can work with some complete dicks, but at least you don't have to do it for long.
Mostly they're clients who try to feel you up.
Or coked-up colleagues.
Or sarcastic chippies.
But I always love my crew, for they are the port in a storm.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 11:25, Reply)
Morrisons, Meltham
Dean 'The Colonel' Kipling.

Utter Cunt.

I hope he dies in a grease fire.

That is all.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 11:15, 6 replies)
Raff's recount of Special Dan's filing cabinet adventures reminds me...
...of a waste of skin that I had the misfotune to work with once, who was in charge of a filing cabinet full of client details (and christ did she think that that was the most important job in the whole company).

It had 5 draws, one of which was solely for the letter 'T' (you already know why, don't you?).

Open the 'T' draw, and you'd find "The XXXXX company", "The YYYYY company" etc. FFS.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 11:08, 2 replies)
Sandwich bar hell
Cambridge grad who thought he was great for running a sandwich bar with I'm told "a harpy wife"(I didn't have to work with her)!
And at the same place the alchoholic co worker who took out her hangover on the newest staff every morning and also trained people to clean a meat slicer by removing the guards and hold a cloth against the moving, very sharp blade! I found a different job very quickly and still have my fingers intact.

I notice it's not there anymore...
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 10:58, Reply)
my colleague dan
was born without a father.

(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 10:50, 3 replies)
Special Dan
The windowlicker of our workplace.
I work in a business that teaches IT and Sales, we hired a 16 year old office monkey called dan who is the thickest guy i have ever met in my life, he's not retarded or anything but has the lowest IQ of any person,animal or glass of water i have ever met.

Some of the Nuggets.

.Stopping him answering the phones as he could not pronounce the company name, (it's four letters long)

.Thinking Glaswegian was a country

.Stopping him making coffee as he always forgets to put coffee in

.eating three course meals on the reception desk and talking to customers with his mouth full

.Not being able to sort the filing cabinet alphabetically

He's a lovely chap but he makes jade goody look like Albert Eistein.

Length? Till the end of the month mate.

(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 10:38, 4 replies)
Dirty Pirate Hooker
The main bar manager at the pub I work at, Jane* is an uberbitch. A skinny brunette who can do no wrong, she communicates through a series of snarking, sarcasm and general barking. Like an eagle with a corked rammed up its bum, she will swoop and shriek at you if you do the slightest thing wrong.

At first I thought all this rudeness was directed towards me. Convinced that she hated me, I shared my woes with my nicer co-workers. This is when I started hearing a bit more about her...

"Jane hates me," I whimpered at another bar manager.
"Jane is a motherfucking mole," she replied. "Don't listen to her. She's only got a job here because she's shagging the manager."
I found it through a few other girls that this somewhat attractive young girl was getting it on with a hairy fellow who looked nearly 40 and was a few centimeteres away from having a mullet. NO WAY. I suppose it's handy to do it with the fellow who draws up the rosters, though.

"Jane hates me," I whinged at another fellow manager.
"Jane is a dirty pirate hooker," he replied. "No, not really. But she did shag seven people at Big Day Out last weekend."
"WHAT?! But isn't she going out with...?"
"Yeah, she is, but she doesn't care."


"Hey, did you hear about Jane's abortion?" asked another co-worker.

Well, if anything, hearing about how my bitchy bar manager is not so perfect makes me feel less afraid of her now. Although I might make a cocktail wrong every now and again, at least I didn't sleep my way into a job, shag 7 people and get knocked up.

I don't want to know if she has to apologise for her boyfriend's length.

*Oh yeah, not real name.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 10:35, 4 replies)
During Uni...
I worked part time in Sainsbury's, scanning rotting food and selling it at low low prices to the bargain hungry scavengers.

Among the fruit and veg staff, was a particularly nerdy jobsworth called Jon, with a broad cockney accent. Jon had no concept of other languages, thus would talk to customers at length about "shite ache" (Shiitake) mushrooms and "Phyllis" (Physalis).

Once given the "promotion" of being till trained, he used this to lord it over everybody like the twat he was.

Jon however, was no match for one of the managers, Ian. Ian was a little Napoleon, with the accompaniying nasty personality. He was shagging one of the till girls on the side, frequently caught out by staff, then threatening to sack them if they told anyone (despite the fact that EVERYONE knew anyway). Ian was also a tool of the highest order, thus:

At the end of a long day, all the mutants had gone home (seriously, everyone in New Cross has something extra or something missing), and we were cleaning up before doing much the same. Seeing the fish counter still filled with ice, Ian orders the girl there to use the hose on it. "But if I..." she starts, but is immediately cut off and threatened with unemployment if she doesn't do as he says. Knowing full well what's about to happen, she has no choice but to get the hose out, water down the refridgerated cabinet, and watch as the electrics and cooling unit flood, spark and start to gently smoke. Naturally, this was her fault...

Ian, Jon, if you're reading this, unlikely as last I checked neither of you could even read, get fucked you officious little pricks.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 10:26, 2 replies)
You gotta bullet in ya f*ckin' head
Back in the good old days when the Interweb was just discovering advertising (about 1999) a mate of mine used the work email system to send around a link to a video clip. It was one of those tasteless and rather pointless video clips of someone apparently getting shot in the head - evidently ketchup-based but might shock your granny if she's the sort who sits in a rocking chair knitting tea-cosies and cat-warmers.

We were programmers working for an international company. We used Outlook for our email. We had the addresses of everyone in the company (thousands of Americans and a Norn Ireland based team of about five). The pillock only went and accidentally cc'd it to one of the American colleagues...

American colleague was not amused. American colleague was on the phone literally sobbing to our boss that someone in our office had sent her a snuff movie. To placate her, and because he was a nob, our boss phoned the police. Two RUC officers in full moustaches turned up to interview my mate about how he had access to deadly footage (when really his only crime was being stupid in a built up area).

They let my mate off with a warning. We all switched to hotmail for our deviant email needs. Now? Now you can watch real beheadings online and they call it "journalism".
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 10:24, Reply)
I'm self-employed
and it's just me. Not much fun at the Christmas party I can tell you. Well, not until I have a few pints and start fancying myself.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 10:15, 8 replies)
I once had the misfortune to work with a Canadian women. She was so fucking cheerful it was painful.It must of been all that fresh air she was brought up on. Whenever one of us was having a bad day and was moody, she would look at us as if we were aliens. She had no concept of irony, sarcasm or dark humour, (something I am abundantly blessed with). To make matters worse she had a hot English boyfriend. What he saw in her God only knows as he seemed ok.

I did however go to her wedding and had a great time so yay Canada!

Canadians, useful at parties but don't work with them.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 10:10, 2 replies)
Who's bottom?
This comes from the days when I was effectively freelance, looking for a proper job.
While waiting for the kettle to boil, Z was complaining that she tended to get all the crappy little tasks.
"That's because you're bottom of the pecking order," said M.
"But Z's actually a proper member of staff. So surely I'm bottom of the pecking order," I said with mock offended pride.
"No, Enzyme," said M. "Z is bottom of the pecking order. But at least she's on it somewhere."

Ethicists, eh?
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:58, 5 replies)
Several years ago I had the misfortune to share an office with a bloke who was to all who worked with him the most boring man in the world, hence the nickname we gave to him, TBM. Terminally Boring Man.

He wasn't nasty or evil or anything, but just his very presence made you dislike his entire being. He went through life trying very hard to be friendly with people, which was probably his main problem as it was always obvious he was trying too hard, if you get what I mean. He was certainly a bit odd.

Anyhow, one day TBM came into the office, late as usual, and deposited on his desk, in a prominent position, a small, polished wooden box. He said hello, and looked pointedly at the box. I didn't rise to the bait.

Some time later, I was sitting working when TBM cleared his throat and said, "Would you like to see my soldiers?"

Bemused, I replied, "Er, OK then".

Whereupon he brought over his wooden box, opened it up and displayed the contents to me. A collection of battle-dressed fantasy figures made from cast lead.

"I painted them myself", he beamed. "I'm especially proud of this one", he said, lifting a particular figure out of the box. I made the appropriate noises of approval, then escaped from the office.

OK, I have interests and hobbies. But I don't play with toy soldiers and live in some Dungeons and Dragons fantasy world. I find that somewhat disturbing. And he was 33 at the time, FFS.

Maybe I'm being too harsh, because after he left (he just disappeared one day without finishing his PhD, and we later heard he'd got a job in the Netherlands) we discovered a load of books in his desk drawer. They had titles like "Making Friends", "Coping with Depression", "How Not to Appear to be a Complete Cunt" and so on.

We felt quite sorry for him then. For about 10 minutes.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:54, 7 replies)
Colleagues and staff
Before I had my own company i could be an utter cnut to work with most notably in the days before the interweb came along and made procrastination a skill. So i let my staff read b3ta - even introduced a couple of them to it.

Anyway, i'd just like to ask before they start moaning about me being jibbering bastard, please do some fucking work cos i've already drunk your redundancy money.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:53, 4 replies)
Jesus Paul
We had a colleague at the Ministry of Cow Counting called Paul. Jesus Paul. The ministry had a vey lax attitude toward recruitment, taking anybody they could coax in off the streets, so we were blessed with a high percentage of loons.

Jesus Paul was known to be a bit of a God-squadder, completely harmless, but would make a habit of coming in early and leaving religious leaflets on Hell and Damnation on our desks.

One morning that changed. He came in looking a bit edgy and went up to one of the lads who had just settled down with a cup of tea and the Daily Mirror for a good, long day's skiving.

Jesus Paul: "Scuse us Pete. Do you believe in Jesus?"

Pete: "Well, actually, I'm not that religi..."


Floored him, with one great righteous punch to the noggin.

This continued for several minutes as our Soldier for Christ floored several other non-believers before trying it on with the office brick-shithouse Big Brian.

Jesus Paul: "Scuse us Bri. Do you be..."


A memo did the rounds later in the day: "Paul is on extended sick leave." There were very few takers for a 'Get Well Soon' card, for we were a heathen, unforgiving lot.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:51, 11 replies)
Being an Office Monkey and all....
and being the lowest on the food chain i am filled with deep hatred for everyone else in the company (bout 8 people all together tho)
- the gay slimy solicitor who always says "i thmell thigarettes" after i come in from lunch
- the main boss (Local MP!) who shouts at anything and tries to convince me to vote conservative
- the office manager who likes to hand me photocopying while smiling which just pisses me off
- the tubby secretary who has a go about anything. once opened her car door and about 10 chocolate wrappers fell out. fat cow.

also she once muttered under her breath:
"why do i need a poo so bad?"
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:51, Reply)
Psyco bitch from hell!
I used to work in a customer services department for a large Kitchen company.It was very busy and very stressful work and my immediate supervisor didn't make things easier by not handling her staff very well. I worked hard and I worked concientiously but still she delighted in ripping me apart at every opportunity in front of the whole office, (which was large and open-plan). I didn't complain because everyone knew what she was like and no-one bothered. The customer services manager, who although a nice guy, knew what she was like and nothing was done about it. The scary thing was that she could be nice also and often gave me a lift home if the weather was bad, I mean WTF!. She bullied me for 12 months until I got so ill I had to leave work. (Ok, taking speed to make sure I got all my work done didn't help either).

I'll tell you something, I don't take any shit from anyone any more. Well, apart from my current boss who also happens to be my step-dad.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:49, 6 replies)
The worse one ever
I used to have a job working in the City of London. I was happy there, just sort of plodding along every day - big drinky lunches and even bigger drinky after workies. My work was always finished though, and I managed to bring the profile of our department to something better than "Those fucking cunts in accounts"

And then, then the company brought in a new manager. She was an utter, utter, utter troll. Short, fat, frizzy hair haridan. We started installing a new accounts package about 2 months after she started. I started doing some serious overtime (not getting paid for it) getting into work at about 7.30 in the morning, and not getting home until gone nine most nights. A couple of times I was there till 11.00. I would like to point out that I had 2 small children at the time, and my husband had run off with a coke whore about 3 months before she started. Anyhoo - she called me into the meeting room one morning and told me that I wasn't "committed" enough to my role, and as I was having "personal problems" it had been decided by upper management that I should either take a demotion (and drop £5k)or be willing to put in more hours.

I think they were planning on setting up a little camp bed under my desk - bless 'em.

Rather predictably I told her to stroke it and poke it and handed my resignation in on the spot. She shat herself a bit then as there was no one else in the department who was as brilliant as I (this bit may be a little fib)

Well - I worked out my notice and about a week before I was due to leave I had an interview with HR. Man, I stuck the knife in - it was fantastic, every petty little nasty shitty thing she had ever said or done was brought out into the light and pored over. Her line manager got involved and when I told him what had been going on he actually went a bit pale. Constructive Dismissal appeared to be a phrase that worried everyone in that meeting. I said it a number of times.

Anyway, I left and 1 month later she was sacked; and I went back as a consultant. SCORE!

Don't fuck with the cat.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:48, 8 replies)
If working with a hook
nosed harpy of gargantuan proportions wasn't bad enough, she managed to sleep her way to the top (very obviously) whilst not doing much work at all. She now has one of the highest paid jobs in the company, gets all the freebies that so often come in this line of work, even though she's meant to distribute them.

She is stupid, she can't spell, she can't use grammar correctly (if at all) and she's got a FUCKING HOOK NOSE.

If she were any more like a witch I would have burn the fucker by now. The brilliant thing is, no-one likes her, so when she comes along no-one pays any attention to her.

Edit: Bloody hell, I just read that when I posted it and I sound like a petulant kid.

She has got a hook nose though...
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:42, 1 reply)
We had a postdoc working in our lab that would steal our research (results and ideas) and publish it under his name. You expect it from other labs in the world but not someone from your own group.

But he pissed too many people off and he is gone now.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:41, Reply)
I claimed to had the greatest saucer of sugar known to man
My flatmate begged to differ, so we entered the Castored Bowl League.

... sigh
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:34, 6 replies)
Talk about shooting yourself in the foot
I worked behind the scenes for ages to get my lads permission to have a radio in the workplace. I argued that it would boost morale and so productivity. Our top banana was totally opposed to it but I chipped away and chipped away and eventually he caved.

What thanks do I get from my bastard colleagues? They play fucking REAL RADIO all day long. It's driving me fucking wild.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:33, 3 replies)
What a fucking industry I'm in. As admin / finance, I'm one of the poor bastards that is employed to accommodate the whims of the self opinionated, ignorant, arrogant, futile, incompetent twats. Apparently, they are paid disproportionate sums due to the constant risk of being exposed as the utter arseholes they are.

Journalists = CUNTS!

(Sorry it's not person-specific, I'm sure I'll have plenty of examples this week. Not that I'm bitter about being under threat of redundancy for the last 14 months.)
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:28, 5 replies)
I work in a local pub
Around 12.30ish, we're usually full of old men drinking bitter. It's where they hang out to get away from their nagging wives or doting offspring. They just want peace and quiet.

Then why oh fucking god why does my bitch of a collegue put Loose Women on the widescreen telly and attach all the speakers so everybody in the pub can hear the self-obsessed ranting of four bitches behind a table discussing their periods?

It boggles the mind.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:20, 3 replies)
Helpdesk sweatshop
A long, long time ago in a town far, far away a young PJM was recruited by a software company as a helpdesk analyst.

I applied for the job and was invited in for a rather gruelling round of interviews and tests was conducted and I was hired.

I was introduced to my boss, who had been with the company since leaving school some twelve years before. He looked vaguely familiar to me. I wracked my brains and remembered that I used to know him when I was a child. He'd been a gobby shite, but time seemed to have mellowed him. How wrong I was.

A few weeks later Rob recruited another analyst and duly paid him £5k a year less than me. Then my problems started.

Rob quickly showed his true colours, he was both a monumentally insincere arse-licker and also liked to manage by fear. This dual side to his temperament rattled me, one minute he'd be publically praising me and the next the knife would be drawn. Being the only non-smoker on the helpdesk meant that at 9am every morning I'd have to deal with all the urgent shite while he went off for a fag and to stick the knife in.

Our latest release of software was as buggy as hell. I had been dealing with a particularly unpleasant client trying to resolve their issues for them prior to my wedding, however I wasn't satisfied that I was getting anywhere with dealing with the root of their issue.

Rob asked me to step outside with him.

"I can't help noticing that you're bringing your wedding nerves to work with you. It's not acceptable, you must make sure they stay out of the office." he said sternly.

I nodded and apologized. I held back, as Rob was going through a messy prolonged breakup with his wife. What's worse? A wedding or a breakup? I made the guy a cup of coffee as a concilliatory gesture.

Later that day I could not believe what I was hearing.

"Well, we have been talking to Marriage Guidance and I'm doing what I can. I don't want to lose the boy..." said Rob, on the telephone in front of the whole office.

"...she wants more excitement in the bedroom..." he continued.

I kid you not. Not only was he bringing his personal life into the office, but he was discussing it on the phone with clients who we were supposed to be assisting. Professional or what?

On the Friday before I was due to fly off on honeymoon, I went through my outstanding problems with Rob. We came to this issue and I asked how should I proceed and who it should be assigned to.

"Close it" was his response.

"You sure?" I asked

"Yeah, I'm sure it's a data input problem" he replied. I duly completed the log and saved it.

Two weeks later I came back to work and was duly summoned to a disciplinary meeting with Rob and the Customer Service Director.

"You closed a serious issue without due consultation and thus caused an embarrassing incident with the client" said Rob

My mouth fell open. I could not believe what I was hearing.

"You told me explicitly to close it!" I retorted.

"Trying to pin the blame for your actions on a manager is a very serious matter" replied Rob, much to the Customer Service Director's interest as he sat there nodding.

Fuck. I was being stitched up good and proper. I had no proof of this episode and obviously Rob was about as trustworthy as the rhythmn method. The fucker had also edited my helpdesk log details too.

"You have to buck your ideas up sunshine".

I had no choice but to sit there and nod.

From there on in, I was very, very careful with Rob. Whenever we discussed anything at all, no matter how trivial I scribbled a summary down next to the time and date. This annoyed the bejeesus out of him.

Then the outright bullying started.

"You're not pulling your weight sunshine" was a phrase oft uttered.

However, I had access to the helpdesk statistics and could prove that I was indeed pulling my weight. I was resolving more calls than the other guys - including him.

Without a word, I printed the stats together with a few emails from clients thanking me for my help and pinned them to the noticeboard, leaving copies on the Customer Service Director's desk.

He was enraged. Determined to prove a point, he started to take calls himself and reduced my allocation of unresolved calls. He got the other analyst geed up to compete and it was obvious whenever I was on the phone that the pair of them were emailing each other, looking at me and giggling. This went on for some months, with the most toxic issues being farmed out to me and Rob pouring over the stats every Friday afternoon. I raised my game and refused to be beaten, however it was clear that I was on the losing side.

My confidence was shattered, so I had one last move left. Without too much bother I got hold of some of the emails Rob had sent round about me to, which clearly crossed the line (stupid fucker didn't delete them all...). I took copies and compiled a small dossier. With another job to go to, a plan formulated in my mind.

"Rob, I need a meeting" I said

"Yeah mate. Maybe later?" replied Rob as he wandered out for another cigarette break.

I put my written resignation in his intray, knowing he wouldn't read it. I put a copy in the Customer Service Director's intray and sat back in my chair waiting for it to kick off.

Phone rings. Rob gets up and walks into Customer Service Director's office. Door closes.

Fifteen minutes later he comes out with his tail between his legs. Apparently Rob had taken a kicking for not responding to my requests for an apprasial (which I'd noted in my resignation letter).

"Fuck, we did need to talk!" he snarled as he walked past me.

Amazingly, Rob seemed to be the only person surprised by my resignation. The Customer Service Director was concerned that Rob had done fuck all to deal with some of my grievences I'd listed and had torn him off a strip. I'm delighted to say that worse was to come.

Six weeks after I left, I sent my dossier of Rob's emails to the Customer Service Director by confidential mail together with a summary of events, dates and times and my take on the proceedings.

And that was that.


I was enjoying a drink with an ex colleague prior to my resignation who filled me in on a few colourful details. Rob's missus was a very difficult woman, she'd been knocked up at sixteen and met Rob when her first kid was a toddler and she was in the final throes of a relationship of sorts with the good for nothing father. The suspicion was that Rob was her meal ticket. Being extremely needy she'd phone him at work and demand he came home to replace a lightbulb in the bathroom that had blown, as she was too scared to turn on anything electrical "in case the house burned down". She'd decided that life with Rob wasn't much cop (clearly possessed of a reasonable degree of perception) and had started chatting to guys online.

Just prior to my wedding, Rob had apparently been discussing with colleagues that his missus had asked him to take raunchy pics of her which she then emailed to one of her online flirtations, with the intentions of meeting for sex - with Rob's full prior knowledge.

Just to rub it in to the guy, like... He deserved it.
(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:19, 5 replies)
I worked for a large American/Canadian telecomms company and one of my cow-orkers was a Redneck-Hilbillly called Chuck. He was, ostensibly, my team-leader but I normally ignore him or told him to fuck-off. Actually, on one occasion I physically went for him only to have him run away screaming like a girl.

Luckily my boss regarded Chuck as a useless waste of space and was just biding his time until he could get rid of the useless mouth-breather.

I had a few run-ins with Chuck.

One day I wandered into work at 11am and headed straight for the coffee station Chuck came barrelling across the room.

"Legless!! What time do you call this" he shouted.

"11 o'clock you retard. Can't you even tell the time now?" I growled...

"And what's your excuse?" Chuck spluttered

"My *excuse* is that some cunt who was on-call last night wouldn't answer his pager. So ops paged me at 4am. And, seeing that the same cunt who was on call switched his mobile off, I had to come in and fix a fucking mail-server." I growled stepping menacingly towards him, red-hot cup of coffee in my hand..

"My..my..my batteries must have packed in" says Chuck backing away from me

"Legless!" barked the boss. "Down.Sit.Stay. - Chuck? - My office, now!"

Bloody boss had ears like a bat.

So Chuck went into the office for yet another bollocking and I slumped into my seat. It was then that I typed out an e-mail and sent it too my team, sans Chuck.

Now this is an old joke that I adapted for the situation but I swear to God this happened....

I Had A Dream.....

I had a dream last night that Bob, the company president, came to see us all in the social club and give us all our Red-Indian names in honour of the good work we were doing.

First up was Terry.

"Terry!" boomed Bob. "I shall call you Owl for you are wise and all seeing and don't mind working while lesser men sleep..."

"Bob! Bob!" Squeaked Chuck "What's my Indian name"

"Soon Chuck, soon" murmured Bob

"Adam!" quoth Bob " You shall now be Eagle for you are strong and far-seeing"

"Bob! Bob!" Squeaked Chuck "What's my Indian name"

"Soon Chuck, soon...."says Bob

"Legless!" booms Bob "I shall call you Swallow for you are swift and sure"

"Bob! Bob!" Squeaked Chuck "What's my Indian name" - now jumping up and down like a wee girl

"Chuck! says Bob turning to him. "I shall call you Thrush!"

"Oooh" says Chuck excitedly "Why am I called Thrush?"

"Because you're an irritating cunt" says Bob kindly....


And I saved the e-mail and sent it. About a week later, I got the same e-mail back in my in-tray, forwarded on from someone in the Asia-Pac office - with a list of headers showing that this mail had done the rounds of the entire company - and beyond.

From then on, the whole company referred to Chuck as Thrush. And he never knew why.

Until now....

(, Thu 24 Jan 2008, 9:18, 5 replies)

This question is now closed.

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