Camel Cock Fucking Fuckwit Cunt !
"You IDIOT! I asked for organic and you gave me regular! I saw you! Don't deny it! Is your manager here? I want to speak to your manager now!" screamed the turd in the suit, a young fella, only just twenty I'd say. He had the regulation 'I am a twat' haircut and a leather-bound file under his arm no doubt containing vital national security documents, the cure for cancer, the secret location of Osama Bin Laden, or quite possibly just a copy of The Daily Star and a packet of tic-tacs.

"Look, mate - she made a mistake," I ventured. I was stood behind him in the queue in the little family run coffee shop near where I work.

The walking abortion, barely old enough to shave, turned on me then. His nostrils flared as he sumed me up with a single glance, he spat out venomously: "Why don't you get a job?!?"

What... an... utter... cunt...

I was dressed pretty casually - jeans, a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt, trainers, a weatherbeaten and weary countenance after a particularly heavy night spent attempting to find transcendense and Nirvana through the medium of alcohol and salty snackfoods. It was Friday. Casual dress day in my office.

"What's your problem, mate?" I asked.

The twat flicked his hair back, sending a fine spray of hair gel over my face. He fumed at me. He appeared to stick his chest out, as if to say: look, I'm wearing a suit, you're not, you're a thick twat and I'm a clever bollocks!

He breathed heavily in my direction - very odd, having someone attempt to threaten you by breathing. I simply stood my ground.

"I'd love to stay here and argue with you, but I have to be somewhere - unlike you," and he pushed past me. "And you can stick the coffee up your arse - I'd rather go to Starbucks!" He shouted to the girl behind the counter.

Charming, using such foul language infront of a lady - Starbucks, indeed, tchh!

I shook my head and raised my eyes to the girl behind the counter, we chatted about the cunt briefly and then I ordered my usual bacon buttie and black coffee - non-organic, give me as many fucking chemicals as you want; I like being more jacked-up on shit than the Green-fucking-Goblin.

After picking up my breakfast I stroll down past the British Library to my office. Another day behind a desk, woo!

I sit there for a few minutes and receive a reminder from one of my colleagues - I've got an appoinment ten minutes ago, shit! Always fucking late, always!

As I'm in a hurry I finish eating my sandwich, have a quick look at the news, footie scores, and my hotmail on the internet, drink the last dregs of my coffee, have a brief chat with my mate Bill about his wife and kids, stop off at the reception and butter-up the receptionist for a while, and then I saunter down to the meeting room I have reserved for me.

And sitting there, prim and proper, straight-backed and smiling, is my new best mate from the coffee shop. When he sees me his smile drops, his smile actually takes a running leap off a very tall building and splats messily on the pavement in a pool of blood and disintigrated bone and skin below. It looks like he's had a sudden and rather nasty stroke or quite possibly just filled his trousers with runny, bubbly shit.

I beam a big smile at him: "Mr Dolby, is it?" He nods. "My name's Mr Hanky - the interview should last about thirty minutes, afterwards if you have any questions about the company please feel free to ask." I sit down, still beaming at the fucker. I think I may actually have got a bit of an erection at the sudden feeling of awesome power. Usually conducting interviews bores the shit out of me, but not this one. Not today.

He looked like he was going to cry.

But what with me being a bigger cunt than this little whipper-snapper, I decided the best course of cuntish action would be to string him along and make him feel like he was doing fucking brilliantly.

While he was spouting on about how great he was and how good a degree he's got, I had a sudden urge to ask him to bark like a dog.

He actually thought he was winning me over - why? because I led him to believe this through my body language and by subtly advising him: "You're winning me over." While making pretend notes on my notepad.

Close to the end I considered proposing that if he suck me off here and now in the meeting room I'd guarentee him a place at the firm. But that was just a bit weird - I didn't really know what I'd do if he said "yes".

So we clunked our way through the interview, we stood up, shook hands, and my new best mate left feeling like I'd offer him a position as Manager of the World and God and Everything.





Oh, he didn't get the job.

Thankfully, his answers were all a pile of camel cock.

(But even if he'd been the best sales animal in the world I would've told him to fuck off and learn some manners).
( SpankyHanky, Sun 5 Apr 2009, 1:19, 10 replies)

pearoast?
i've read this somewhere before.
good all the same though *click*
(it's not hash mixed drops, Sun 5 Apr 2009, 1:48, closed)

I imagine
lots of people, if not everybody who does interviews has experienced something similar to this - just my bit of advice to anyone attending an interview:

Don't be a cunt. It does not help you find work.
( SpankyHanky, Sun 5 Apr 2009, 1:58, closed)

i think you missed a trick
you should have employed him, as an underling, then sent him on an errand for coffee, then when he brought it, spit it into his face and scream 'THIS ISN'T FUCKING ORGANIC!!!' then had him torn apart by wolves.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Sun 5 Apr 2009, 5:47, closed)

this
would have been the appropriate course of action :)
(firestormviper!!1 approaching god through cigarettes, Sun 5 Apr 2009, 8:59, closed)

Ha!
Good work there.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Sun 5 Apr 2009, 6:43, closed)

People...
...like him should be strung up by the larger of their testes and beaten with a shitty stick.

As I was told when I did my training "assumption is the mother of all fuckups."
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Sun 5 Apr 2009, 7:08, closed)

Hmm
I think you should have chained him up, driven him to Nantwich in a milk float, and publicly had him shot in the buttocks with an elephant gun by the town's oldest graphic designer.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Sun 5 Apr 2009, 13:23, closed)

again with the chaining and the floats and the shooting - why?
(Although I'd still pay to see that.)
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Sun 5 Apr 2009, 14:38, closed)

Sheer laziness on my part
although I have to admit, it's low to pea replies though.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Sun 5 Apr 2009, 15:46, closed)

This
is all sorts of awesome. Have a *click*
(uk_viper stopped lurking on, Mon 6 Apr 2009, 7:42, closed)