Whoring Myself to the Miami Viceroy (421 hits)
Category: Humor -> Dumb JobsRating: 0.25 on 5 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Drone of Industry (View user info) at 2004-11-16 13:43:12 EST
From one vice city to another. I just went to Miami Beach and had quite the splendid time! Stretched out naked on a canopy bed in a 2000 dollar a night suite, my flesh rubbed down with tropical oils... Mango Guava Berry, Keylime Melon, Pineapple Sunshine to name a few. My room was incensed with Palm Olive Musk, banana leaves were between each of my toes, and as beautiful native Florida women fed me psilocybin mushrooms, my body contracted and expanded with the tide of the mighty Atlantic Ocean, and I breathed every breath of life with total fullfillment!
...Or at least in so many words.
I'm just being a perverted poet. But I did get to go to Miami Beach! I SWARE! A feathering wasteland of tropicalia! It was 8o sumthin degrees and humid as hell. Then you'd walk into the sterile indoors and it would be freeze dried as a bone thug in harmony. YES! I was getting five star treatment at the Sheraton Hotel in an all expense paid trip to the annual board room meeting of the biggest slot machine distributer in the whole goddamn shitsucking motherfucking world! Little ol' me! Dressed incognito, I would be conducting a private investigation, as I hob nobbed with likes of the richest men in the industry. yup yup yup... I sure did! Indulging in free exotic food, liquor, and cigars with the softest, spoiled, balding white kings of the industry. I mimicked their laughter (ta ta ta ta!) and lifted my pinky with every sip of whiskey sour.
whatever... it wasn't that fun at the company dinner party... so I creeped into the shadows and went to pay a visit to the Atlantic Ocean. She was much more fierce and unforgiving than Lake Michigan. I tried to talk to her and ask her questions, but she was stubborn and just said I was talking to myself to no avail. I couldn't get nuthin out of her. Fucking Bitch. So annoyed with our stalemate, I pissed in her and returned to my wining and dining. But the wining and dining had turned into everyone surrounding a giant flat screen tv to watch the Yankees and the Red Sox duke it out. I was tired anyway. And besides I had to get ready for the big meeting the next day. For I was a special guest!
Uugh... Bright and early in the morning. Let the meetings begin. I was drinking coffee, but it couldn't fight the absolute drain of the atmosphere that was sucking my soul dry. The coffee back fired, and my brain was charbroiled from the get go, and the meetings kept going in slow motion, and the schedule kept getting pushed back further and further. This was very bad news. You see, the reason that hundreds of dollars was being spent for me to be in Miami was because my BIG BIG BOSS had devised a secret performance that would win the hearts of the entire boardroom, and thru this showmanship, our tiny company, XF2, would stand out among the tall weeds of all the other third parties that were presenting (We were basically a little company whoring ourselves to our huge father company).
We snuck out of the meeting and crept to our hotel rooms to put on our rented tuxes and tune our rented pro gear from the Sam Ash instrument conglomorate. I revved up my hollow bodied guitar, Tony carefully layed out the drum kit, and Bill held his bass and complained the whole time like he always does. We were the XF2 Band! White collared troubadors that grew up on the wrong side of the tracks! Our display would prove that XF2 Incorporated had more than just quality, innovation, and tenacity like every other dumb slot company, we had fucking spunk. Stick that in your resume and smoke it, honkies!
ok, ok, ok... I'm obviously exaggerating the coolness of this situation. The Friday before, my 2 coworkers and I practiced the whole performance in about two hours with such favorites as the Blues Brother's theme song (uugh).... I Feel Good (cool!)... Sharp Dressed Man (double uugh)... and Money (get it... 'money'/slot machines! HAHAHAHA!). So we didn't get to play the songs I picked. Bill, the 40 sumthin year old square on bass took authority and called all the shots when we were organizing this whole thing. He's such a chode licker. AND I'M MUTHAFUCKIN PUNK ROCK, BITCH! Pleased to meet you! OW!
Anticipation was hell. Our performance started to fall apart before we even started. Everyone saw us in our suits as we made our way to the conference room... so the element of suprise didn't happen. We walked in with prestige, picked up our instruments, and calmly presented our BIG BIG BOSS, and struck directly into the lame-O Blues Brothers song. But the BIG BIG BOSS missed his cue. So that fucked us up! but who gives a ratt's ass? What the hell do they know? But the buff girls n guys in bikinis that the BIG BIG BOSS hired to pass out refreshments didn't show up. and the 85 dollar OJ we were passin out to the execs toppled over and spilled. And the BIG BIG BOSS pissed everyone off when he talked about the huge father company's weaknesses and dwelled on it and dwelled on it and dwelled on it. It was a cold room indeed. People frantically scribbling notes beneath their chagrins. aaack! mutherfuckers! whatever. We rocked out and I got some major feedback after 'Money'... the VICE President demanded we wrap it up, so we bid farewell and fled for our lives! ...back to the hotel room.
There was a general consesus among us employees that things didn't go so well, and the underlying thought that the BIG BIG BOSS just paid thousands of dollars to set this thing up, and a prolly a thousand more now that we were guaranteed to miss our flights and abandon the return of the instrument rentals. But the BIG BIG BOSS, in fact, did say that we had done our best and that we had made our mark on the judging eyes of IGT Incorporated. So when he asked me later about my personal thoughts on the whole presentation I exclaimed, "SPECTACULAR!"
We took a cruise that night with the loving funds of our father corporation, IGT. I got really drunk on fancy beers, whiskeys, and wines, and not only bonded with my fellow coworkers and bosses at XF2, but the younger, hipper staffmembers of IGT as well. I was finally revealing the real me: The Drunk Off My Ass Me.
What a beautiful climate it was, as we rested ourselves at the bough of the boat, oooing and aaahing at all the gigantic mansions. Yes, we were the superior race! And I'll tell ya, life is a cool breeze when your at the top! And that night I talked to the strangers of IGT. They weren't corporate monsters at all! They were individual people with thoughts, emotions, and feelings! Just like YOU and ME! Who woulda thunk it!
We sat chilled out max in the hot tub for a while shootin the shit. I caught myself asking someone about their job, but stopped in mid sentence and apologized to even bring it up. This was vacation time, so I should treat it like so. But then the VICE President of IGT Incorporated approached us, took off his bathrobe, and settled his flabby, baby soft body into our little community. AS SOON AS HE FUCKING GOT IN..."So we just sold 35,000 units of Money Storm in Japan," he condescendingly informs us. This guy sucks. He can't converse, joke, or philosophy or NUTHIN unless it revolves around his shmuck corporation. We all soon dispersed and then some IGT employees invited my cool ass to swim with them in the Atlantic Ocean... to be baptized into their sorortiy.
We all smoked cigarettes, stripped ourselves from our white collars down to our trunks (or in my case underwear), and ran screaming into the Atlantic Ocean. Like soldiers in the frontlines, we charged into the battle, slamming our flesh into the ferosity of the ocean's waves. Christ! Even as I type this I can taste the salt water. The salt water peircing into my eyes... shooting down my throat. I was screaming 'FUCK YOU" at Mother Nature as all of us employees were one... united... in our common clash against the Atlantic Ocean. Just think of all the death, turmoil, and sadness she has imposed on the world in these past few months with her god forsaken hurricanes.
All of our primal human urges were shining through within the darkness of the Miami beach as we fought the unthinkable battle. Yes! It was a fight we obviously could not win... a couple dozen drunk people versus a fucking ocean! I know. But so are we vulnerable to life! So is it futile to rise above the powers that keep us down, to win the war over THE MAN! BUT THAT'S ALL WE CAN DO... keep fighting against these mostrosities that burden the world with their demands, that sedate it with their consolation prizes... with a hope that someday these pampered dictators of wealth and power will empathize with the people of their kingdom, and know what it feels like TO ACTUALLY BE A HUMAN FUCKING BEING!
User Reviews
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2004-11-16 16:11:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
For whatever it's worth, I think your stuff deserves far better than this. It's a shame that most of the people on this site only read things from those they are familiar with. Keep hacking away, they'll come around eventually. It takes a bit of tweaking as a reader to really feel the groove of your writing.
A writer is really only as good as those that reader.
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2004-11-16 15:17:21 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
psssst
I live there, and it's not humid this time of year.
And the Sheraton isn't in Miami Beach either.
Just a heads up
Submitted by HadToBeDone (user info) at 2004-11-16 14:44:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Word.
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2004-11-16 14:01:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Poingnant...engrossing...penetrating right to the heart of all matters, through the dust cloud of corporate pretentiousness and stoicism. Awesome.
Submitted by WhatTheHell (user info) at 2004-11-16 13:48:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Pfffft.... I just farted.
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