The Boss
My chief at a large retail chain used to decide on head office redundancies by chanting "One potato, two potato" over the staff list. Tell us about your mad psycho bosses - collect your P45 on the way out.
Bruce Springsteen jokes = Ban, ridicule
( , Thu 18 Jun 2009, 13:06)
My chief at a large retail chain used to decide on head office redundancies by chanting "One potato, two potato" over the staff list. Tell us about your mad psycho bosses - collect your P45 on the way out.
Bruce Springsteen jokes = Ban, ridicule
( , Thu 18 Jun 2009, 13:06)
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First boss out of Uni.
He didn't seem right from the off. The mini comb over which covered about an inch of his bald pate, like he'd inadvertently stuck a Hitler moustache onto the top of his head, made it uncomfortable to avert your gaze upwards while avoiding prolonged visual contact with his wandering eye.
His dress 'sense' was straight out of the Clarkson school of style: too tight jeans with a badly ironed shirt tucked firmly in and exposing a copious gut that looked as though it was trying desperately to escape and crawl down his thighs.
He was overly aggressive in his every action. The conclusion to each phone call would without fail be followed by him muttering 'cunt' after he'd signed off, before his mobile was forcefully returned to the tatty pvc 'leather effect' pouch that hung cheaply from his belt.
He had been married, sired a pair of boys and divorced again before he'd escaped his thirties and this is where his deepest curiosity lay. His divorce wasn't on the grounds of his being an utter cockend. It had nothing to do with the fact that all women, presumably including his former wife, found him to be completely intolerable. It seemingly had nothing to do with his highly questionable approach to sanitation. Indeed, it wasn't his wife who insisted on the separation in the least bit.
Nope, he was divorced for no other reason than the fact that he'd decided relatively late in life to admit to himself, and to the rest of the world, that he was, in fact, as gay as a post. This lager-swilling, punch-throwing, ultra aggressive man's man seemingly couldn't get enough cock up his chocolate starfish; although you'd never know it until he spoke freely about the 'cute young lad' he'd given a 'proper facking facking' to the night before.
All this made him quite an amusing character to work for. He spoilt the potential for amusement, however, by doing his utmost to groom the very naive and vulnerable young warehouse lad; who was straight out of school, really quite unsure of himself and most certainly not of the age of consent for gay sex. That was very, very disturbing indeed.
( , Thu 18 Jun 2009, 15:35, 1 reply)
He didn't seem right from the off. The mini comb over which covered about an inch of his bald pate, like he'd inadvertently stuck a Hitler moustache onto the top of his head, made it uncomfortable to avert your gaze upwards while avoiding prolonged visual contact with his wandering eye.
His dress 'sense' was straight out of the Clarkson school of style: too tight jeans with a badly ironed shirt tucked firmly in and exposing a copious gut that looked as though it was trying desperately to escape and crawl down his thighs.
He was overly aggressive in his every action. The conclusion to each phone call would without fail be followed by him muttering 'cunt' after he'd signed off, before his mobile was forcefully returned to the tatty pvc 'leather effect' pouch that hung cheaply from his belt.
He had been married, sired a pair of boys and divorced again before he'd escaped his thirties and this is where his deepest curiosity lay. His divorce wasn't on the grounds of his being an utter cockend. It had nothing to do with the fact that all women, presumably including his former wife, found him to be completely intolerable. It seemingly had nothing to do with his highly questionable approach to sanitation. Indeed, it wasn't his wife who insisted on the separation in the least bit.
Nope, he was divorced for no other reason than the fact that he'd decided relatively late in life to admit to himself, and to the rest of the world, that he was, in fact, as gay as a post. This lager-swilling, punch-throwing, ultra aggressive man's man seemingly couldn't get enough cock up his chocolate starfish; although you'd never know it until he spoke freely about the 'cute young lad' he'd given a 'proper facking facking' to the night before.
All this made him quite an amusing character to work for. He spoilt the potential for amusement, however, by doing his utmost to groom the very naive and vulnerable young warehouse lad; who was straight out of school, really quite unsure of himself and most certainly not of the age of consent for gay sex. That was very, very disturbing indeed.
( , Thu 18 Jun 2009, 15:35, 1 reply)
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