The Art of Storytelling
Today was a hell of a day. It was good. And it was great. And it was scary. All in the same day. It felt so good because I feel so close. And it felt so scary because I’m so fucked up.
I had a job interview about a week ago. And it looks like I might actually get this big shot bullshit job. Only thing standing in my way is me. Because now, two of my references, and someone I’m cool with at one of my old jobs, have all told me that they’ve been getting those background check calls, having lengthy ass conversations about my character. And that’s where the shit goes to hell.
Because I’m an asshole. I’m like that dude on that show called My Name is Earl, except I haven’t won the lottery, and I could give a shit about karma. Plus, my ex chick ain’t as hot as his white woman. Damn, you lookin’ good Jaime. I’m still at the Earl stage before he went straight. I’m not a thief or anything like he was on the show, but I have done a lot of bullshit I’m not proud of, shit I’ll never be able to live down. Sorry, mama. And that’s why I get worried with those background checks. They usually come up clean if they just stick to arrest records and shit. But when they get into credit checks, and actually talking to people I’ve probably fucked over once or twice in my lifetime is where the problems start.
Because on a resume, you can pretty much put whatever crap you wanna on that shit, bullshit awards that you could give a shit about, somewhat true statements about your efficiency and skills, bullshit about how great you performed some bullshit task you can’t halfway remember doing. And it’s cool, because all you do in an interview is bullshit your way through that resume over and over again, giving that audience examples of how you did bullshit, and how people responded to how you did that bullshit.
Take fucking beyotches up the ass for example. Yeah, it’s overkill. And I’m trying too hard. But let’s take fuckin beyotches up the ass, shall we. On your resume, it might have: Proficiency in inserting penis in anal cavity that had a 98% response in climax. And in that interview you might go: well, I do extremely well when fucking beyotches up the ass. Take this beyotch, Sandy. Sandy had a big fat ass. It was one of those asses that you fucked, but never actually looked at. Because if you looked directly at her ass, you probably would be grossed out. So, when you were about to fuck her, you’d keep your head up, and feel your dick blindly around her nether regions hoping to hit the right hole. Although, to be truthful, any hole in a beyotch is the right hole, but you get what I’m saying.
Anyway, I searched my dick around down there and happen to hit the booty hole rather than the cootchie hole. These are clinical terms. Now, the thing is, I really was aiming for the booty hole. So, when I hit it, I was happy. And after like, what, maybe, two minutes, I busted a nut and I was out. And I could tell that from the look on her face when she turned around, she was happy as well. In fact, she was so happy that she took me out to Red Lobster afterwards, and paid for everything. Now that’s what I call gratitude. So, to me that meant another satisfied customer.
See. That’s how you put that shit in action, so to speak. So, although people get fucked up about the whole interview part, it’s really the background check that’s the big shit, at least for brothers like me. Because if you’re human, you got shit in the closet. Most of the time, people won’t find out about that shit, but you never know. You see it with them dumb politicians. Shit they’ve kept hidden for fifteen million years, all of a sudden, during their dream job, shit gets leaked and their fuckin’ careers are over. I don’t want none of that shit for me. My bones need to stay buried.
Plus, there’s at least a job or two where you know they couldn’t stand you when you left. I always wonder what the fuck those assholes are saying about me. Oh, Ronny, I think he was a crack head. I heard rumors that he used to give blow jobs to the transvestites out back in the alley. He’s also lazy and shiftless, wouldn’t know work if he saw it. We think he’s a complete jackass around here. Assholes.
Don’t fuck it up for me. I swear to God, none of that bullshit that I did back in 2000 when I was doing dumb shit like dating white women better not come back to kick me in the rear. Please Baby Jesus, don’t let them assholes fuck me over. You know a brother gotta gets paid. Please, keep them devilish assholes from saying bad things about me. Please don’t let the background checkers find out all the bullshit I told them was complete bullshit.
I know I’m a lying piece of shit who can’t help being a deceitful piece of dirt, but please don’t let my babies suffer for it, Jesus. Yeah, I know I ain’t got no babies now Lord, but when I do, I know you’ll want them to be fed and be clothed and be happy. So, don’t let me stay poor. I hate being poor. Please, Baby Jesus. Fight the Power. Negro gotta roll in some heavy dough for once. Just for once. I promise I’ll go straight if you let me win this one time.
Please.
Recently
Leave a Reply