Famous Anus wiped his brow. It had been a long shift at Circle Jerk and Wash This Asshole’s Hashing Emporium. Between losing at least three virgins somewhere between the aisles, Muff Daddy refusing to turn on the air conditioning because ‘it’s outside’ or something like that, and a plethora of arrows to sort through, he was beat. His co-workers weren’t doing much better—Do Her Well was tasked with surveying them for quality assurance but she hadn’t gotten out of her chair in at least ten minutes. Dick Simmons was trying to submit their headshots to corporate, but the servers kept going down.

“Does anyone else have any questions about the latest employment package?” Boner Marrow droned over the loudspeaker. “If so, please direct them to me before we finalize negotiations.”

Not even the p word could stir Sheepy or Magnum, Not I, who were picking through the employee buffet. Five Angry Inches was industriously organizing the orange food by shape and flavor profile.

“Okay, everyone—we’ve decided to try something new. Time for some group performance reviews before the end of shift!” Cockamole clapped cheerily. Humpy Slowcum stood beside her slowly chewing a blade of grass. Just Doesn’t Get It slowly slipped towards the back of the group.

“Bitch on Fire!” Cockamole smiled brightly as Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring led the canine forward. “You’ve done a great job on customer service, stellar reviews all around. But we have to point out you are a bit too formal for the workplace. And you’re behind on your markings.” Humpy spat thoroughly and emphatically.

“Cum Test Dummy!” Cockamole looked through her notes. “We’ve heard some reports of extracurricular watersports, it seems.” Humpy nodded solemnly.

“And?” asked Cum Test Dummy.

“No further comments,” Cockamole flipped through her pages. “Wee Wee, your newest hire is a bit on the young side, no?”

“She’s a real go-getter,” Wee Wee responded emphatically. “Her output is phenomenal.”

“Very good,” Cockamole continued. “EMP!” Humpy raised a stern eyebrow.

“You rang?”

“EMP, the reports filed by Gingervitis have us wondering why the supplies you were taking to McLaren got delayed?”

“I will have you know that the organizational structures of this entire emporium are completely misaligned. You have beer vans going ten different distributional directions, Wham Bam Thank You Tam is dying of thirst, Look Who’s Coming To Dinner is holding at least three vests from virgins who got bored of our collective bullshit. And our regular manager, Hand Pump, is nowhere to be seen! Fucker is over there laughing like this is fine, while Backhoe and E=McFucked are going to spend more money commuting than they earned today. You want a performance review? I’ll review your performance. One!”

“I’d like to make a statement,” Hoseblower began.

As he spoke to the crowd, Dick Ass Mother Fucker closed his eyes. He thought about watching the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze and hearing children running around on open fields. He could imagine what it was like to be there again. In another universe, he had gathered with his friends to enjoy their company instead of being sequestered in an endless meeting. The breeze in his imagination became coarser. Damien the Antichrist had begun to snore.

“That about wraps things up,” Cockamole interrupted. “Now let’s close out for the night shift.” Tricrapylete and Wet and Sloppy helped clear out the garbage, while Medium Sized Balls of Fire locked up and handed the keys over to Hand Pump. Vagina Dentata, Just Get It Over With, and What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vega were clocking in.

“Hope you have a quiet evening,” Humpy nodded to Hand Pump.

“Quiet enough,” chortled Hand Pump knowingly, as he punched his card.

The End