My first day in OFFICE
First morning and already the family is fecking everything up royally! Completely useless they are. I bet Richard Branson didn’t have to put up with The Simpsons sabotaging his every brilliant business move. They’re like those bastard, jockey-less horses in the Grand National. You know your stallion should be winning but they get in the way and fuck him up at every hurdle.
First of all there’s Dad. He deliberately got up before me at 9 o’clock and did all of the work I wanted to do. He ordered all of the drinks, dealt with the staff and then fecked off to get the food in for MY party tonight. Has he consulted me on anything? Like fook has he! He’s off his bleedin rocker. Last night I specifically instructed him on what the menu should be for our grand opening tonight. A fine, exquisite À la carte selection to entice the wealth of superior sophisticated clientele that our surroundings offers us, but I bet you, I BET YOU MY BASTARD PLACE IN HEAVEN that he comes back with gawd awful drum sticks, chipolatas, scotch eggs and general repulsive snot that you always find on those evil tiny ickle STICKS!!! It is this kind of madness that must have ruined his previous business ventures. He has no vision. It’s like hiring Michelangelo to paint your sixth chapel and then deciding you’ll give it a bash yourself regardless. ARGH! Don’t these people realize I am their winning lottery ticket? Use my numbers, I have the winning balls!
Clints hasn’t exactly helped either with all of his moaning this morning about Dad. He says that he is spending a fortune and it is my fault apparently. He reckons that Dad will have spent over £15,000 before the doors even open tonight, on drinks, food, staff and a new sound system, for a party that no one in town will have heard about because there has been no advertisement. If he had his way we wouldn’t do anything for a week or two, but just wait to see what the locals are like and what they want from us. Bullshit. I don’t know where I get my brilliance from, but it must have been a freak accident, because no one else in my family has it. Me coming to Torquay is like the Romans coming to Britain. The locals are going to flock here to see what new and exciting ideas I am bringing from the big city. Clint shouldn’t worry about the money either. 15k will be pocket money compared to what we’ll make; even Dad recognizes that, so I commanded Clint to stop worrying and to have faith in the ruling class. I do feel sorry for him, he hasn’t got a clue. No doubt he’ll be working for me for the rest of his life. I suppose that’s the curse of family, you have to look after the unfortunate buggers. Except for Miller that is, he can piss right off.
My twin is such a shit. A constant itch in my ass that I need to offload down the nearest bog. He is so insanely jealous of the respect that I have, that he will stop at nothing to diminish it.
Today I had to interview for new bar staff. Before Dad went out earlier he showed what little business acumen he had by making the ludicrous assumption that I should be working behind the bar tonight. Does the Queen wipe her own ass? No! And this King doesn’t either. I’m a General. I’m behind the lines, devising the plans, sending the orders for the troops to go over the top. I can’t be stuck behind the bar. It’s demeaning if nothing else. After pointing this out to Dad over and over and over again, until it registered in his thick head, he finally relented and told me to get someone else in then. That was the first sensible thing he’d said all morning. So I rang the job centre and they sent out three potential bar stewards within the hour.
All of the prospective workers arrived together. One was a beautiful 18 year old girl called Miss Summer Hits. She had long blonde straight hair, which shimmered like a golden sun that deserved to be worshipped by all its minions. Her curvaceous, tasty legs were showcased virtually right up to her muff because she had ditched a sensible skirt in favour of a slutty belt to cover her modesty. Her eyes were like looking into the blue skies of Heaven and she was also blessed with two lovely big tits that I wanted to take a nap on right there and then. The others were a fat bitch and a speccy twat. Miss Bertha Tunc and Father Quinn. They each handed me their C.V’s and I quickly directed them to my new office so that I could conduct my interviews. I got in there only to find that Miller was in my swiveling manager’s chair. For five minutes or longer I commanded that he must vacate the area but the grinning chimp flatly refused and argued that he should be allowed to jointly interview. He soon left in a sulk however when I told him that I would get Mom down from upstairs if he didn’t fuck off immediately. He stood up and agreed to leave, but only if he could have a word with me outside first. I apologized to my perplexed candidates and excused myself.
“You’re gunna hire Boobzilla right?” Miller asked desperately
“Ssssh, keep your voice down! I don’t know do I? If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve not had the chance to interview them yet?”
“You’re pulling my swinger, aren’t ya? If you don’t hire her now, you might as well drop to your knee’s and suck every donkey dick that comes through the front door, because if you don’t BEG HER to work behind our bar, you are admitting that you take it up the lubed arse”
I pointed out to my brother that I abided by the good law of the land, and that stated that everyone should be treated respectfully and equally. I would interview each and then make my decision fairly. At this moment he snatched the C.V’s from my hand and began to read them aloud.
“FATHER QUINN! A priest! I thought you wanted a respectable pub, Jacob. We can’t have no fookin pervert working here. I’m prime meat me. I wanna be able to get pissed in my own bar without worrying that he is gonna take advantage and take me up the altar. Though I suppose you’d love that, ya spunk guzzler”
I tried to wrestle the papers back but unfortunately Clint had taken an interest in what we were vociferously arguing about and decided to take Miller’s side. The great lummox somehow managed to tangle me up and lock me flat on the floor as he sat on my back.
“I’m not even going to read the burger burglar’s C.V, she is a definite no. A fookin health risk to all our eyes. Now, here we have the lovely Summer. Experience. None. La de da dad a. Whoa! Hang on. Am I reading this right? Oh my GOD. LOOK. AT. THIS!” Miller shouted as he came flying over to Clint and I, with animated excitement. “It appears that the heavenly Summer Hits only suffers from O.C.D! Obsessive Compulsion Disorder. She’s the fookin Grail man. How wicked is that?”
I had no idea what the hell he was on about and I begged him to keep his voice down as I was sure the three interviewees could hear us very clearly on the other side of the office door.
“Do you realize what this means. She’s the perfect woman” Miller claimed. “I’d just have to tell her that if she didn’t have sex with me, then her gran or something would die a horrible death. It’s brilliant. She’d drop her knickers faster than a midget prostitute!”
“It’s more likely she would have to flip the beer tap a 100 times before every drink she poured. No way. No way,” I protested
“You’re not taking this away from me bro. I’m going in there right now and giving her the job”
Miller left me with no choice and with every last breath in my body I screamed for Mom to come and help me. Clint darted off like a shot, leaving me and Miller alone once more. I should have battered him right then but I wanted to remain professional in front of the three bar steward contenders. I stole back the papers and reminded Miller how one day he’d be in the gutter giving hand jobs for a couple of pence while I’ll be sitting in my penthouse with dozens of ‘Summer Hits’ willing to do my every desire.
The little shit however had one last Ace up his sleeve to ruin my respectability.
“I’m sorry Jacob” he whispered “You’re right. I’m just jealous. Obviously I am. Look at you. We’re twins. Don’t you realize how hard it is to know that there is a version of me out there who is perfect when I’m not. You will get all of the top bitches and I’ll be lucky to get a gobble off of a blind spaz. I suppose I was just desperate to get to Summer before you blinded her with your immense presence”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He was right of course. Perhaps there was some of my old hall monitor partner still him. Some of Anakin that resided in Darth Vader. For a moment I forgot about everything. My brother was back. Together we could rule the galaxy! But then out came the red light saber and he struck me down.
“She is gorgeous, isn’t she? Summer I mean” he said
“I suppose so but…”
“Come on, she is fookin tip top. Admit it, go on”
“She’s definitely attractive, there’s no denying but that isn’t…”
“She’s a fookin bike you wouldn’t mind riding in your birthday suit across some very bumpy, dirty tracks aye!”
I really thought we were having a moment of union that we hadn’t enjoyed since it was stolen from us all of those many years ago, on that very dark afternoon. We both suddenly found ourselves laughing and Miller had his arm around me.
“You could just imagine her” Miller continued in a hushed, gentle voice “Butt naked on your bed right now, or better, kneeling before you… Red lips licking. Heavy breath tickling your free monkey. It ready to feed her his banana. Can you imagine it, Can you?
I was completely lost in his words. Her sensual physical being consumed my entire thoughts. Miller cracked the office door open ever so slightly.
“Look at her. I bet you’d love to run in there now and fookin have her right across your desk wouldn’t you”
I so would have….the bastard. At this point my little man had certainly woken up and wanted to know what all the fuss was about. He liked the sound of this bird and wanted to get a look in. I soon came back to reality with a slap when Miller broke out into a loud belly laugh, more evil than any Bond villain. He pointed to my attentive trouser member, smacked me on the back and swaggered off, wishing me luck with the interview. The fucker.
I tried everything to get mini me to go away. I shouted into the office that I wouldn’t be a minute, that I was just calling references. I tried jogging on the spot, star jumps, punches, I tried going to the toilet, and I tried thinking of unsexy thoughts (such as putting my bastard little man through a pencil sharpener) and eventually it worked, he went away. Thank God, I thought. So I finally walked back into the office, right in front of the three sitting down in front of me and the sneaky little sod popped back up (obviously playing dead) to get a good long, hard look at this Miss Summers. I almost head butted Father Quinn I bent over so fast. Jesus knows what they thought of me but I flounced around that room like a demented ballet dancer, trying to twist my body in shapes and positions, so that they couldn’t see the trouser tent I was sporting. I was going to give that little guy such a beating later!
I couldn’t conduct a correct interview with all that going on, so I thanked all three for attending and told them that their C.V’s and references were enough for me to make an informed decision. I had to go with experience and so the job was Miss Bertha Tunc’s. Rule 7: DO NOT LET MILLER SLEEP WITH THE STAFF. Hiring Summer would have been a nightmare. All the lads would have wanted her and she would have wanted me. This would create a division in my troops and threaten my authority. Of course I could have rejected her advances, but then she would have quit in a storm of tears and it would have proved pointless hiring her in the first place. No, hire the ugly fucker I thought. Safer all round.
I also offered Father Connelly some hours as well. Miss Hits left quickly. She must have been devastated the poor thing.
As they left my little man obviously seemed content with what he had seen and went back off to sleep.
As the three left Curly appeared and he asked who I had hired. When I told him it was Bertha who took the main job, he said I was crazy, and that I should have hired Summer. I then told him what I thought, that it was time for less talk and more work sunshine. I reminded him that he wasn’t here on a holiday and that he had to earn his keep. The bogs were over flowing and it seems that the people from last night’s leaving party had taken to shitting in the bin bag next to it. All the used paper was in the puddles all over the floor, so I got him to clear that up immediately. Once that was sorted I told him he could clean up the entire dusty bar. When that was finished he can sort out the lorry load of beer we were expecting and then he could help Clint put up all of the decorations for the party tonight. Oh, and I wanted all of the furniture moved around too.
Curly asked if I was going to be giving him a hand. I couldn’t believe the cheek of it! I reminded him of his position in the company, one which he should be most grateful for. He is really trying my patience already the stupid pube hair fecker..
After that I felt quite knackered, so I decided to have a lie down. You can’t get any sleep in this place though. All I could hear was the delivery turning up and Curly and Clint banging all the barrels and crates around. They know I’m trying to get a rest before the big night. I’ve got to look my best when I meet and greet my new subjects.
That’s all I can be bothered to write about at the moment. Tweedledum and Tweedledee should be finished in a minute, so I’ll try and get some shut eye again!