Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Your Job Is Your Life

You understand what I'm saying, right? You know I don't like to repeat myself. I'm a powerful man, with powerful allies, who does awesome things you can't even imagine. One time, while sailing in the south Pacific, I had a Japanese free diver dive to the bottom of the ocean and bring up a baby kraken. I ate it right there on the spot, while it was living, and now I have the power of the beast. Can you comprehend that, peon? I guarantee you Bill Gates doesn't do shit like that.

So I'm a little tired of hearing about all of the poor working conditions at my company. The white collar workers are complaining about having to work 60 hour weeks and about how the company won't give them any time off for personal tragedies like family deaths or miscarriages. What a bunch of pussies, right? I don't bring my personal baggage to work. I lock it in a vault and then throw away the key, and then, sometimes, I randomly assault people and nearly beat them to death. That's healthy, okay? That's what you're supposed to do. Anyone who has a job is lucky to have said job. There are Chinese people who would murder your entire family to do the things you get to do. So suck it up and quit whining to the New York Times about how hard your life is. You want to know some folks who have it tough? Try working in one of our warehouses. It gets like one-hundred degrees in there in the summer, and you have to stand ten hours a day putting shit into boxes, and you do that long enough, you can feel your brain sliding out of your ear holes to puddle on the floor. I'm telling you right now that monotony is the worst thing in life. And these people live it for like ten bucks an hour. You don't hear them complaining much, do you? That's because they have no economic power. There's nowhere else to work. They are unskilled labor. They know that if they don't do a good job, I'm going to replace them with robots. Believe you me, we're working on it. Beautiful sex robots that can stand twenty-four hours a day and put shit in boxes with one hand and jerk you off with the other. God, I can't wait for the future.

Your job is your life. You were put on this earth to work for the company. Let me explain it to you in a way you might understand. You need money for food, water, shelter. You lack the creative brain of someone like myself, so you need to find a company to leech off of. That's where we come in. You give us your life, and we give you money, which you are free to spend however you want. Economics 101, asshole. As far as you're concerned, we are God. Do you complain to God? I bet your ass you don't because you're afraid He'll smite you. Well, be afraid of my wrath, peon. I don't want to hear anymore goddamn complaints, or I swear, everyone will be replaced by a sex robot. It's going to happen anyway, but I'll delay it as long as I can. Just as long as everyone's a good worker. Have a nice day.  

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