MORE LIKE RIP OFF YOUR CLOTHES BRITAIN!!!!

PHWOOAAARRR!!

The Unemploidazoid 2 (Return of the Slack)

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I'm Engaged!!!

Ok,

So I’ve been back at work now for a while, back doing what God intended for me and making sure people have personal accident, legal and breakdown cover on their car insurance policies. “Oh you don’t have PA cover Mrs Jones? Did you know your kids aren’t covered if they're injured in an accident?” If unable to use sex to sell, go with guilt.

Much as it is difficult for me to drag myself away from the next inevitable beep that will introduce me to another motorist in desperate need of my help, even the Lord himself needs to lay some cable now and again. To be honest a dump at work is something of a blessing from above, even if that above is just above my sphincter. Let’s get it right I hate my job, any excuse to take off that retarded headset and retire for a moment from those faceless voices is fine with me. In fact if I came in one morning and was greeted buy my boss saying “morning James got a choice for you today you can either work as normal on the phones or you can take an 8 hour dump, what’ll it be?” I’d probably grab a paper and hit the bogs. Unfortunately this has never and probably will never happen so my toilet trip today will be the highlight; I’ll take my phone maybe fire off a few texts and earn a penny while spending one. At work there is no men’s toilet on the floor I work on so I have the choice of going up or down, Judging on what time of day it is I may try to work out which will smell less of rancid shit and go with that.

So arriving in the toilet it’s empty and silent, a blessed utopia of calm, the automatic air freshener dispenses a whiff of floral delight as if it’s been expecting me. I take my usual cubical and there’s not even a speck of piss on the seat.....bliss. I Drop trousers and relax.

Now I’m midway through the match and miles away from the shitty world of Hastings Direct rip-off car insurance when to my horror some utter cunt goes and tries the door!? I’m shocked upright on my throne and sit in disbelief as this fucking bumtard has the nerve to try it a second time, and then a third!!? “Someone in here!” I felt obliged to shout. For Christ sake there is a red engaged sign on the door that clearly means a bloke is in this toilet? He might be having a crap, he could be treating himself to a sit-down piss, and he might even be bashing one out. Any of these sacred rituals has now been ruined buy this selfish door shoving horrid inpatient scrotum of a man. To add insult to this I then hear this arse-piece promptly turn and walk out the door!? I can only hope that on his way home he decides to ignore a red traffic man when crossing the road and is sent flying through the air landing on his stupid poo interrupting head smashing it to bits. I now have to go back to work with this complete twat-faced door rattler messing up my whole day as if working in telesales wasn’t bad enough, thanks mate thanks very much.

Zoid.