If everybody at work thought like Barre Baby.
KEEP YO ISHT OFFA MY DESK !!!
HERBERT KORNFIELD
Accounts Receivable Supervisor
Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, bruthahs 'n' sistahs. H-Dog here, Da Stone Cold Playa, The Original Gangsta, The Mack Daddy, The Freaky Gangbanga. And I got somethin' to say to all y'all bieeotches out there: Keep yo' m*****kin' isht offa my desk, or I'll KCUF your sorry azz up wit' da quickness. And I don't want to see y'all comin' around, puttin' your feet on it, neither. Or puttin' your dayumm coffee cups on it and leaving them fu**ed-up rings all upside the wood and ISHT.
'Cause I keeps my fly isht on my desk. I gots my dope spreadsheets, my hangin' file folders, my delinquent-accounts file, my paper clips, my Post-It note dispenser, my monthly desk planner, my Midstate Office Supply business cards, my four-color ball-point pen, my mo****ckin' dot-matrix printer address labels, and my bling-blinging three-hole punch. Not to mention my computer.
I swear, if I see any of y'all beeotches within three feet of my computer, I'll get Steven Segal on your beeotch arse.
Take what happened just last week. Judy Metzger, this lil skank crow from
Accounts Payable, be runnin' her azz around the office, puttin' cupcakes wit' the dayumm smiley faces and isht on people's desks. I'm like, "Whus this smiley-face isht y'all be puttin' on my desk?" And she's like, "I made cupcakes for everyone in the office last night!"
Now, I don't take isht from nobody, and I sure as hell don't take no isht from some bia from
Accounts Payable, so I picks up my letter opener and do some crazy kung-fu isht on her.
"Step yo' arse outta here, beeotch, and keep yo' stank arse cupcakes n isht offa my desk."
She go runnin' out of the room and go gets her supervisor, Myron Schabe, from across the hall. Like I'm supposed to be scared of that. Myron older than isht and he be wearing bow ties like he Farrakhan or somethin'.
So then he come up to my cubicle and say, "Herbert, I think there's been a misunderstanding. It was Judy's turn this week to bring in a treat." I tell him I don't like no beeotches from
Accounts Payable puttin' no isht on my desk. But this Myron fool keep pushin' it, tellin' me: "It was meant as a nice gesture Herbert, nothing else. It's Co-Worker Appreciation Month, and everybody's scheduled to bring in a treat. You yourself are signed up for next Wednesday."
So you know what I tell him? I says, "I ain't gonna be bringing in no mo****ckin' treat, mot****ker. Treats is for old ladies in the nursing home and isht. And ain't nobody gonna be layin' they smiley-face bull**** on my fly desk. I gots everything where I want it, and ain't no little bia gonna be messin it all up. So take yo' beeotch-azz, bow-tie wearing arse out of my cubicle before I break out dis boxcutter and get Bin Laden on you azz !"
After that, Myron walk out of there all scaied and isht. Ain't no
Accounts Payable supervisor gonna tell
Herbert Kornfeld what to do. And no one else, for that matter. You put isht on my desk, Im gonna break out da burner and smoke you with the quickness.
H-Dog out. And to all my homies in
Accountz Reeceevableand the bruthahs kickin' it down in the
Mail Room, keep ya heads up. Peace.
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