Same car parts warehouse I’m afraid…and I’m so blooming glad I don’t work there anymore…
Now there are a few discernable traits that your average b3tard can use to define whether someone is a ‘bit of a bastard’ or not. These include:

Selfishness
Arrogance
One-upmanship
Sexsim / racism
Bragging / gloating gittishness
Being patronising
Trying to get others into trouble
Sucking up to management
Self righteousness
Annoying voice
Being just damn Fugly

If your example fits any one of the personality disorders mentioned above, then there’s every chance that they are a bastard colleague. Post away!

It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that my example...‘Ian’ has them all…in spades…and more…wrapped up in a bumper Christmas gift hamper of hate.

Short, stumpy and pot-bellied, with receding ginger hair and the dodgy ‘tache that is the quintessential hallmark of the lingering uberwanker, Ian was somehow convinced that he was the single greatest individual that the company (and possibly the world), had ever seen.

Preposterously outspoken (despite always being wrong) and thicker than the thighs of a Russian Female Olympic shot-putter, this twat-nappy would stop you in your tracks and snap your tolerance and boredom glands off by launching into monologues reminiscent of a pre-pubescent spackwhistler crossed with an ‘old school’ Nazi grandad in it’s worst possible manifestation.

Every conversation with him, you see, was like stepping into a time machine to the middle ages…and let me tell you…that’s not a nice place to be.

Extreme sexism, homophobia, racism and hardcore, shouty bullying were the order of the day if you wanted to get the job done, according to Ian.

He was constantly bragging about the hideous septuagenarian hags he had donated the glory of his teeny man-meat to, whilst his long-suffering wife stayed at home and ‘had his dinner on the table every night by 7 or she’d get a slap’.

His mannerisms alone during these conversations made me want to feverishly reach for the first sharp object I could find and jam it into his eye socket. He actually did the ‘hip thrusting’ movements as he demonstrated his shagging technique.

His language, unlike his ego, was grossly stunted, He had the grotesque habit of not being able to think of what to say next, mid-speech. So whilst not wanting to stop talking for fear of interruption, he resolved this problem by peppering the gaps in his lectures with a constant stream of swearwords. A typical gob-spurt from Ian would be as follows:

“Ah fuckin’ tell ya wot…..fuckin’…..fuckin’……Ahm not bein’ funny but…fuckin’…them bastards think they can do….fuckin’….130 lines a fuckin’ hour….fuckin’…I used to do that before I’d got outta me fuckin’ bed, with me fuckin’ eyes closed! I am the best fuckin’ picker they’ve ever… fuckin’…known here because….erm…fuckin’…the boss said so!”

I once mouthed the words ‘I hate you’ whilst he was talking at me…He was so wrapped up in his preaching that he didn’t notice. With every word he spews from his filth-hole, you get the feeling that the chip on his shoulder could feed the third world for a whole millennium on its fried potato goodness.

His entire existence revolved around being recognised by the warehouse manager as the one person that could put the most car parts into a trolley (or bucket) the fastest.

That.is.it. His life…summed up.

The trouble with that ambition was…there were about 5 or 6 similar thinking people on the site. Every man-jack of them was a wanker of some sort. One of them was a cunt of such magnitude that I even wrote a song about him simply entitled ‘Hatred’. (His story is for another time and I’ll play you the song should Big Girls’ Blouse ever throw a bash and invite me to her house again).

Anyhoo…back to Ian…

Speaking with his gutter Nuneaton accent, Ian prided himself on being a ‘hard-case’. Apparently, he could ‘have’ anybody, and in his own opinion was ‘as hard as nails’ (also in tune with the ‘pathological liars’ QOTW, he insisted he was a karate expert).

Unfortunately, the practice of his aggression seemed to only ever be pointed at women or youngsters. Funny that.

So it was with no small amount of glee that I heard this little nugget of information...

It transpires that Ian had been ‘enforcing his personality’ on a temp in the packaging department for the entirety of the poor bastard’s contract. However, on the temp’s final day, he promptly clocked out his card, went back into the building, approached Ian and proceeded to stick the nut on the cunt, rendering him unconscious.

Yay.

Ian also wanted to earn more than every other person at his level in the warehouse. His dedication to stepping over anybody in his path to get overtime got to the stage that the company decided to promote him to supervisor, simply because it got ridiculous that he was paid more than most of the people in there. They thought they could get more for their money that way.

This action, however, gave him responsibility….and Ian shat his pants big stylie. He is currently struggling like a limbless pig in a vat of gloopy wallpaper paste.

I love a happy ending.

The one ‘catchphrase’ of Ian still rings in my ears when I see examples of supreme idiocy and purest, common twatness wrapped in an inadequate sea of insecurity and lack of coherence …

“Ahm not bein’ funny….. Ahm not bein’ funny…..”

You’re fucking right Ian…you are most definitely NOT being funny.






*Edit removed and put in the 'replies section*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 22:54, 6 replies)

I am extremely glad
To never have had the misfortune to encounter such a poor excuse of humanity as that. The worst so far, has been dear old Donna (see last actual post).
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 25 Jan 2008, 23:31, closed)

it shall
mr pooflake... for I think a good 47.8% of people read this at night...

And you say he was ginger too... the twazock
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Sat 26 Jan 2008, 0:46, closed)

WTF!
How can you leave your job! It has the greatest level of cushiness I have ever seen (other than mine of course). Don't do it Pooflake, B3TA needs you!
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Sat 26 Jan 2008, 8:50, closed)

Noooooooooooooooo!
You can't leave. First Disasterprone and now you. I shall sink into a depression the like of which has not been felt before.

Good story by the way, :)
( girlinthehole, Sat 26 Jan 2008, 13:01, closed)

Don't do it!
Stay exactly as you are... for all our sakes.

Let's see if I can tempt you with a *click*
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 9:58, closed)

So that the above replies still make sense...

I'll put here what I originally put as an edit in the post:

*Edit: This is a test...I am doing a post late at night to see if it still provokes a reaction...because I may soon be getting a new job and this may be my only outlet for B3ta. This could be the end of Pooflake as you know him...let's see

I would like to thank you guys for your messages of support...but I've removed the edit as I didn't want it to look like some crap cry for attention.

What I meant by 'the end of Pooflake etc'...was that I would only be reduced to posting late at night and on the odd weekend If I get my new job. Unfortunately you can't get rid of me that easily...I am afraid that you are stuck with me like the veritable 'bad smell that you can't shake off'.

group hug?
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 28 Jan 2008, 16:10, closed)