Angry Management
Predator Press
[LOBO]
“Cobe,” I says. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you sir,” says the hideous little man. “I’m up for review this week. I work so much, I haven’t slept or bathed since April.”
“How very efficient,” I reply ponderously. “Do you think you’ll get that Chief Negotiator position?”
“Excuse me sir?”
“You didn’t know? I thought everybody knew.” Here comes the lying part. “Ethan has been considering you for that position for a long time now.”
I am the Rembrandt of lying.
With enough time, I could convince you George Bush was secretly a celebrated part-time accountant for MENSA.
"Really?"
“Yeah,” I says excitely. “Cobe, you’re absolutely gruesome.”
Oops.
“Thank you sir.”
“--I mean a shoe-in”, I stammer. “Oh, fuck it. There. I said it. Cobe, you’re one revolting-looking human being. I mean like H. P. Lovecraft ugly."
“I appreciate your candor, sir,” Cobe replies. “But you were saying about the job … ?”
“Oh yeah. That. I would say your chances are about 50-50 at this point.” I pause for drama, stretching coolly. Exhaling, “... Too bad you couldn’t, I don’t know, impress Ethan with something really big between now and that review.”
“I work 106 hours a week with no breaks.”
“Negotiating?”
“No.”
I shake my head. “See, that’s what I mean. And the timing’s bad too. There’s really only one big outstanding Predator Press negotiation pending right now.” Thinking quickly I add, “--being that it’s the slow season for negotiations and all.”
“What negotiation is that?” asks Cobe with keen, predictable, and butt-ugly interest.
“We want Phobe to pose nude on PredatorPress.com.”
“But wouldn’t Sapphire be a—?“
“Saphire’s a stripper, you fuckin freakshow-destined yet otherwise model employee. Everybody’s already seen Sapphire’s action. Don’t you remember that post when she made us put up naked pictures of her?” I tap my forehead, trying to remember, “It’s in the archives," I flounder. "It’s that one post with all the cursing. According to the counter, nobody fucking went.”
“According to the counter, nobody goes to any of PredatorPress.com--”
“Being a ‘Mr. Smarty Guy’ and tripping me up with the facts isn’t going to help your situation, you revolting, multi-celled organism.”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“Noted,” I says, continuing ...
[LOBO]
“Cobe,” I says. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you sir,” says the hideous little man. “I’m up for review this week. I work so much, I haven’t slept or bathed since April.”
“How very efficient,” I reply ponderously. “Do you think you’ll get that Chief Negotiator position?”
“Excuse me sir?”
“You didn’t know? I thought everybody knew.” Here comes the lying part. “Ethan has been considering you for that position for a long time now.”
I am the Rembrandt of lying.
With enough time, I could convince you George Bush was secretly a celebrated part-time accountant for MENSA.
"Really?"
“Yeah,” I says excitely. “Cobe, you’re absolutely gruesome.”
Oops.
“Thank you sir.”
“--I mean a shoe-in”, I stammer. “Oh, fuck it. There. I said it. Cobe, you’re one revolting-looking human being. I mean like H. P. Lovecraft ugly."
“I appreciate your candor, sir,” Cobe replies. “But you were saying about the job … ?”
“Oh yeah. That. I would say your chances are about 50-50 at this point.” I pause for drama, stretching coolly. Exhaling, “... Too bad you couldn’t, I don’t know, impress Ethan with something really big between now and that review.”
“I work 106 hours a week with no breaks.”
“Negotiating?”
“No.”
I shake my head. “See, that’s what I mean. And the timing’s bad too. There’s really only one big outstanding Predator Press negotiation pending right now.” Thinking quickly I add, “--being that it’s the slow season for negotiations and all.”
“What negotiation is that?” asks Cobe with keen, predictable, and butt-ugly interest.
“We want Phobe to pose nude on PredatorPress.com.”
“But wouldn’t Sapphire be a—?“
“Saphire’s a stripper, you fuckin freakshow-destined yet otherwise model employee. Everybody’s already seen Sapphire’s action. Don’t you remember that post when she made us put up naked pictures of her?” I tap my forehead, trying to remember, “It’s in the archives," I flounder. "It’s that one post with all the cursing. According to the counter, nobody fucking went.”
“According to the counter, nobody goes to any of PredatorPress.com--”
“Being a ‘Mr. Smarty Guy’ and tripping me up with the facts isn’t going to help your situation, you revolting, multi-celled organism.”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“Noted,” I says, continuing ...
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