A new shipment of killer sharks arrived at the lair yesterday. Guess who had to install the laser beam head gear? That's right, yours truly. Man, sometimes I really hate this job. I know I shouldn't think like that...but seriously, have you ever had to get in a tank full of 15 killer sharks and attach laser beams to their heads? Didn't think so.
First of all, their name says it all. These fuckers are killer fucking sharks. Not teddy bears. Ever rub a shark the wrong way? That shit hurts. And killer sharks don't care if you're technically on the "same side". Second, The Boss is a fucking tightwad. Instead of hooking us up with those phat Japanese laser joints, he buys the cheapos that are probably put together by 5-year-old sweatshop workers in Guatemala. Five-year-olds don't know shit about lasers, that's for sure. Plus, these pieces of junk tend to go off for no reason at all. That's how our first batch of sharks got ruined in the first place. They just lasered each other to death. It's unsafe, I tell you...someone could lose an eye. And I should, know...it's how I lost my eye. I mean, it turned out alright for me, because an eye patch gives me a little bit more "street cred", I think. However, it also leads to my third point, which is that my lack of depth perception makes the task all the more difficult and time consuming.
Luckily, Stumpy Jones was there giving me a hand. The work goes by a lot faster if you've got someone there to keep you company. He throws steaks into the opposite end of the pool to try to distract as many of the sharks away from me as possible. He kept ripping joke after joke and even took off his wooden leg and did some kinda crazy Darth Vader impression using his leg as a lightsaber. You should have seen him hopping around all over the place. I nearly peed myself.
After I got the last shark fitted up, I turned to Stumpy and go, "Hey, Stumpy, you know what I could really go for right about now?"
And he replied, "A couple of hookers and some blow?"
I smiled and said, "Man, it's like you can read my fucking mind! Except I'd add a nice juicy steak and a six-pack of Heineken to that order. C'mon buddy, let's go...the hookers are my treat!"
Then we high-fived each other.
I turned away and headed towards the sliding doors; but, right as I did, I heard a loud "Bzzzzzt!" and then a splat. When I turned back around, I saw Stumpy lying on the ground in a pool of blood. One of those motherfucking lasers obliterated his goddamned good leg!
Stumpy was taking it like a champ, though. He just grinned and said, "Dude, I think I might have to pass on those hookers tonight."
We both started laughing, then I picked him up and carried him to the infirmary. I heard The Boss is gonna spring for two brand new bionic legs for the fella. They're probably gonna be shitty Guatemalan bionic legs, but anything is better than that old wooden mop handle and duct tape set up that Stumpy had been using before. I'm probably also gonna have to start coming up with a new nickname for him.
Maybe when my annual evaluation time comes around this year, I'll ask The Boss for some kind of new bionic eye. Of course, I'll still keep wearing the eye patch. Bitches love the eye patch.
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