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Museboy...
...and other side effects.
My boss left me a wonderfully polite voicemail message threatening my job because I didn't come in and work unpaid overtime for him. I don't like threats. My personal opinion of him dropped a hell of a lot and I phoned back and left him his very own shitty message telling him what I thought of him as a manager and the work environment he has created. I basically said call me back if you want me in monday. If not then, ya know, whatever. It's hard to threaten someone who really couldn't give a shit. I worked myself up for damn near an hour expecting a full blown yelling match with the fucker though. Kinda down that we're trading voicemail. Still, he called back and said that it wasn't that I didn't come in that bothered him it was that my mates didn't come in to help out with leaflet distribution. He was pretty toned down in the second message. He's still bullshitting though. His exact words were, "...you either come in or you can phone Paul and your job is in jeopardy." He just wants to get me in so he can sit me in his office and play at being a competant manager. I'm sure his bollocking would be very formal. Fuck that noise.
Even if it was all down to my mates not coming in, whoop de fucking do. They're doing it as a favour. If they can't make it do you really go and fire someone? It's not like I couldn't rearrange them to come in the next day and do it. Well fuck him. Statistically I'm his best sales person so lets see him close the month with just one newbie working in sales when Carys the sales manager goes on holiday later this week. If he gets even half his budget I'll be surprised, and then all kinds of hell will fall on his head from high above. See I'm fine with losing my job. My girlfriend, friends and family are to important to be working unpaid 60 hour weeks anyway. Gareth doesn't really have much except his job, he's so indoctrinated into the company persona. I'd kill to see the look on his face when the big guns tell him 'his' job is in jeopardy. Dumb fucker. I always told him that as soon as the bullshit outweighed the money I'd leave.

I'll stop there now because it's starting to sound like a messy break up.

I'm going camping again at the end of this month. There will be much hunting and roasting of meat with fire. Also Kelly will be coming with me this time so my tent will be crowded with hairdryers and things. On the plus side I don't have to worry about those long cold nights. I get my own personal hot water bottle. Not a clue where we are going this time though but I trust Gary. He picked a damn good site last time. Even if his driving skills did leave something to be desired. It takes a special kind of crazy to drive a Chrysler off an embankment and into a river. Backwards.
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When I left for work this morning the sky was blue and the sun was warm on my face. Everything was rosy, just like my mood. As the day went on a storm rolled in like a huge black wave in the sky and it matched my mood perfectly again. Yesterday I left work a mere 20 minutes after quitting time because Kelly had made me a meal and had a surprise for me. My new tent for going camping at the end of the month in case you're interested. I say a mere 20 minutes because it's quite normal for me to work 2 hours late. In fact in the previous week I worked a few 12 and 13 hour shifts. I promised Kelly I'd be home on time because she gets really upset that we never get enough time together. We both do. I'm salaried too so I get fuck all for working extra hours, but as I left fairly quickly yesterday I got the piss taken out of me by my general manager and the regional branch manager. Cracking jokes about me rushing home for tea time. Then my general manager spent the day on my back because my figures were down. Sorry mate, I spent the day dropping off leaflets for you which ain't my job and sitting through bullshit meetings. I have shit leads from poorly planned outreach drives which has nothing to do with my fucking exemplary performance. As far as sales ratios go we are amongst the best because my personal score is 85%. A full 17% above the company sales guru. I'm dragging the team up with me. I have no one new to call because my sales manager won't do her job properly and she's planned fucking bullshit for this month because she thought she was getting his job and she's fucking unprofessional. So by the end of the day I've got that slimy little hyperactive weasel chirping over my shoulder every five minutes and I'm about ready to chew glass. Then he strides back into the office and says, "Hey you." And when I turn and say, "What!" with no attempt made to hide my anger, thunder rolls over the club. I've never seen anyone get off their high horse so quickly in my life. Remind me to say my prayers to Grandfather Thunder for teaching me not to suffer fools gladly. Starting tomorrow I'm looking for alternative employment. I refuse to work for such self absorbed, petty assholes. I wish them good luck in all of their greed but I measure the success of a man by a totally different ruler.

On a brighter note I'm going camping and hunting with a few mates and Kelly's old man up in the Brecon Beacons soon. We're leaving on the friday of next week and staying for a few days. I seriously need the R&R and to get my head screwed on right again. We'll spend the days hunting corvids and rabbit and the nights drinking around the campfire. I'm really looking forward to it. I can't wait. It's all thats keeping me sane right now.
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I like my immediate manager. She's cool, if a little quiet. I used the phrase, "He'll shit an angry fucking wolverine.", in a conversation about upper management without being fired. Thats always good. Upper management are dicks however. Okay the gym manager Simon is a bit of a cock socket but he's leaving when he gets back from Australia for a better job. Upper management are total pigfuckers however. They're easy to spot though. They all have really bad, fake orange tans, expensive suits, gold jewelry, to much wax in their hair and they all, without fail, wear pink shirts. I try to avoid all contact with them for fear of becoming infected with stupidity somehow. Paul, my regional sales manager has no idea what my job is. He offers neither support, leadership nor direction. What he does do is call or text message the club every two hours demanding to know how many sales we've done and spouting crap about affirmative thinking, or whatever buzzword he's picked up lately at an all expenses paid management course. We spend more money each year on conferences for them to meet and pat each others backs congratulating themselves on their nice new BMW's, than we do on the actual customers. I am Jacks burning bile duct, and I am really pissed off.
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So I'm sat on a roof waiting for a fat man with a golf club. At least the weathers nice. I can smell the fertile sicilian earth and the perfume of a garden full of flowers mixing with the cooking from the kitchen below. I can hear the Don's head chef singing to himself as he bustles about preparing lunch. I've been sat here an hour and a half. Only really moving to track the progress of the guards on their regular patrols. They haven't missed the gatekeeper yet but they will sooner or later. If they notice he's missing too soon then I'll miss my chance. They must be used to him taking breaks when he feels like it though. Idiot abandoned his post to go outside and take a piss. I waited until he was finished before I used the chloroform. I didn't want him to piss on his suit. I dragged his limp body into the hills, stripped him naked and cut his throat. Wearing a dead mans clothes I walked straight into the Villa Borghese. I scan the balcony opposite one more time. Waiting for the Mafia boss to come outside and practice his backstroke, just like he does every morning. He must have a lot of paperwork to do. Taking bribes can be hard work. It's not until I lower the crossbows scope from my eye that I notice the Don's son walking across the roof towards me. My heart jumps into my throat. If I'm caught I'm a dead man. He's not armed. He thinks I'm just one of his fathers hired goons who is goofing off. He's got that, "What the fuck are you doing on my roof?" look on his face.
The crossbow bolt entered through his left eye. At that range it was all to easy. He hits the tiles with his mouth frozen into a last 'O' of disbelief. I drag the dumb bastard to the edge of the building a glance over. Theres a guard below. I draw my silenced .22 and aim straight down at the top of his skull. Interesting thing about .22's is that they rarely have enough power to punch through a human skull twice. So once the round goes in it will ricochet around a bit. Eliminates the need for double tapping a target. The suppressor also has an effect. It slows the round down to below the speed of sound and redirects the explosive force of the shot so that it's a lot quieter. This means that the round won't ricochet. It will just enter the skull and transfer all of it's power to the brain. Same principle as with hunting. If you shoot an animal with a highpowered rifle you'll drill a nice hole through it and it will scurry away to die someplace else, slowly. It's called over penetration. It wastes energy. What you want is for the bullet to stop dead when it hits and transfer all of it's momentum into the target. Clean kill. Not that this guy cares about the physics of the thing. He's dead before he hits the floor so I roll the Don's son off the roof on top of him. No patrols pass this close to the house. As long as the gardener doesn't decide to do the flower beds I'm fine. I crawl slowly back into position and reload my crossbow. I'm happy to wait. I'm good at it. Sooner or later the Don will step out into the sunshine, smile and die. I just have to wait.

I love Hitman 2. It's a great game. It's good to have a natural aptitude for something.
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Okay, I feel a little better. As I walk to work I meet a guy going into my building. He asks, "Hey, are you the guy who confronted those yobs the other day?"
I reply that, "Yeah, I guess that was me."
He grins and says, "Well done mate. I was phoning the police when you went tearing into them. It's about time someone said something. He only lives over there you know?"
That got my attention.
He gave me his name and address.
If he causes more problems I'll send the police straight to his door. With luck they'll ASBO his whole family. Little car stealing, rock throwing, violent little bitch.
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Why is it that I'm the only fucker around here who cares enough do something? I can charge in with all the fury I want but if no one else can summon up the testicular fortitude to say something then they're gonna be hiding in their houses moaning about rising crime rates until they are robbed, beaten, mounted and mastered. If you turn a blind eye then you lose all rights to complain when it happens to you. Just once I'd like someone to be at my back, ya know. Doesn't anyone have the guts to take a stand anymore?
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It's never nice when some little wankers think they can break into your home with impunity. They smashed open a window in the communal entrance with rocks and set off the fire alarms. They did this to every building in Caerau Court. They ripped piping of the walls outside and they were trying to smash the alarm box when I caught them. It's nice when a screaming skinhead in a wifebeater turns up to kick ass. I chased two of them out of the court and down the alley behind the shops. They took off up a fire escape and tried to hide on top of the roof of a building. I banged on some guys door and asked him to phone the police and I cornered them. The smaller one ran past me crying so I let him go. I wanted the older one who was obviously the leader and more likely to be prosecuted if arrested. So he's stuck on a roof with me. He asks what I'm going to do to him. I tell him that I'm going to have him arrested for breaking and entering. He says, "I'll jump!" so I say, "I'll fucking throw you."
So he jumped. Funniest thing I ever saw was that little wanker limping away down the street crying. I'm a bit annoyed that I was the only one who chased them down and I was the only one to phone the police. I'm setting up a neighbourhood watch I swear to God. I'm not taking this shit. Who the fuck do they think they are?
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My boss called me into his office the other day. Naturally I wonder about his knowledge of the food purity here. He tells me that I rock. I tell him that I know this. He also informs me that I am so far ahead on sales that he may as well give the entire reception bonus to me. I say thank you. He offers me a position in the Sales department. He's interviewing for two new sales people now but I don't need to go through that shit. I'll either get one of the spots or if he has two excellent applicants he'll pay me lots extra to do sales on the weekends when they're not in and give me the first spot that opens up. I was recommended by two seperate supervisors for the job. Like I said, I know I rock.

Sales executive. I like that.

Lots of money. I like that even more.
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If you're ever caught alone in an underground facility surrounded by 20 tanks filled with deformed fomori and/or metis Black Spiral Dancers do you really want to be fucking with the controls when you only have one die to use for the computer roll? Apparently not, because the Theurge botched another one and opened all the tanks. He killed ten of the bastards before the rest of his pack got back and walked into a bloodbath.
Best moment of the game goes to Usher though. Sat in the control room guarding the technicians with a shotgun after we discovered the tanks when a naked, headless woman walks past the window.
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Thank you to my girlfriend for making such damned cool icons for me.
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