So it would seem that the assholes at Apollo Group finally got fed up with me. September 29, 2015 was my last day. Yep! They canned my ass.
The official reasons are:
- I was regularly under the influence of illegal narcotics while at work;
- I would regularly use drugs while at work;
- I was amazingly unreliable and missed a shitload of work;
- I had ongoing conflicts with many of my coworkers;
- I was barely competent at my job;
- I regularly had sexual relations with coworkers which resulted in repeated workplace conflicts;
- I was misappropriating company resources for personal use (stealing, in layman’s terms);
But in my defence, it’s not my fault – everybody at Apollo Group is a bunch of stupid, fucking morons. That shithole is going to fall apart without me there to keep it running.
So, what’s next? Well, since I’m the quintessential white trash, drug addict, I obviously never saved any money. And, if I don’t get another job soon I’m going to find myself in that same ol’ situation of having to give up the ‘tang for a place to live. HEY! Don’t judge me! I’ve done it before and I’ll sure as hell do it again. The only problem is, at 35 years old it’s getting harder to use sex to get what I want.
Since, I don’t have money coming in I’ve been taking money from my older son, our son. Our son’s father (Patrick) deposits $125 a week into his bank account and gave him a credit card for support related expenses. So, I have the little bastard take out $100 here, $140 there and give it to me. Since it’s cash there’s no way for Patrick to know our son’s giving the money to me. Ha! Fuck Patrick! Besides our son owes me because I’ve been feeding the little fucker ever since I had his father deported so I could get custody by default.
I really don’t think I have much chance of getting another job, though. Not while I’m all over the Internet, anyway. Unless, of course, I change my name. Then again, for $500 any private investigator can locate my new name and whereabouts within a few minutes – damn Social Security system!
Ah, fuck it! Might as well resign myself to the reality that I’m fucked. Hey, what better reason to get high than the realization that your fucked?
Most likely, I’ll be destitute within two months. When the money runs out then we (James Pendleton and I) won’t be able to keep up the drug habits. He’ll get pissed off and probably kick me out. I’ll shack up with the next guy in line – there’s always a next guy in line. I’m not so stupid as to not have a fallback.
Patrick will probably wait a little longer, for me to sink a little deeper, then petition the family court to get our son back. And since our son never wanted to be with me anyway, that will probably be the last I hear from him. Fuck it! Who gives a shit? As long as I’ve got weed and meth I’m happy.
If you, the reader, happen to work for one of the companies I’ve sent my resume to, then you should hire me because when I’m not high; when I actually do show up for work; when I’m not fucking my coworkers; when I’m not creating a bunch of needless drama in the workplace by sleeping with other people’s husbands; in those approximately 20 minutes each week, I am an excellent employee…and I have absolutely no reservations about sucking cock or taking it in the ass to get my way. And what kind of fucking moron wouldn’t want someone like me on their team? Anyway, I don’t give a fuck about you, or your company, or your work – just give me my fucking paycheck and let me call in sick two days a week.
Later bitches! It’s time to smoke a bowl and get ALL fucked up.