I mean... it's just talking isn't it? ... and mine's a Guinness.

Friday, October 5, 2012

I've got my job... you've got yours.

Consuela is threatening to quit. She says I make far too much mess for one guy. She's been all huffy since some other Consuela started to get a lot of traction on the internet. I checked it out… seriously, I don't know what her problem is, but she's all bent out of shape by some cartoon cliché. Bottom line is that she's stomping around ranting about negative stereotypes and giving me a hard time... as if it's my fault!

Anyway, I tried to explain that it's a simple process… I make a mess, and then I pay her to clean it up. People pay me to talk, I pay her to clean. It's a wonderful example of capitalism and the power of market forces.

She's sulking now. She pouts when she sulks… it's kinda cute.

I don't know what all the fuss is about. I give her all the empties. Nickel by nickel, she's amassing a small fortune. I think it actually paid for her mother's last visit…

Hidden assets.

So, in the cold light of day we all agreed that my Jamaican accent wasn't really going to carry anybody off on flights of fancy down to Montego Bay. Shame really, it was a pretty good gig. Turns out that Dick had put it out to a P2P as well, "Just for insurance" he said, "Gotta service the clients." he said. Probably got the voice for a hundred bucks.

These guys are going to kill me.

No comments:

Post a Comment