I Be The Real Employee Of The Month - H.K.
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<H1>I Be The <I>Real </I>Employee Of The Month</H1>
<BR CLEAR="LEFT">
<B>By Herbert Kornfeld <BR>
Accounts Receivable Supervisor </B>
<P>
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 <I>will </I>get
flown. </P><P>
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 <I>real </I>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. </P><P>
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. </P><P>
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 <I>real </I>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. </P><P>
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 <I>mother fuck</I>. 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. </P><P>
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. </P><P>
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 <I>wrote off</I>. Uh huh. So when I says I superbad, I ain't
just blowin' shit out my ass. H-Dog gots tha flava. </P><P>
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 <I>payback time</I> 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 <I>muthafuckin' Scarface</I>, man. </P><P>
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 <I>Principles
Of Accounting, Volume 4</I>. Peace.</P>
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