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This is a new story I wrote on a whim, essentially. A dog gets fired from his job, hilarity ensues. As a joke, the Psychiatrist's name at the end means something in german...
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Day 1: Well, It finally happened yesterday. I got fired. (I guess Bring-Your-Own-Bazooka-To-Work-Day was a prank.) I’m going job searching today. Wish me Luck!
Day 2: That last one didn’t go so well. I think they were looking for Vegetarians, as opposed to what the ad said, because they really didn’t like my “Free Sampling” of their product. Thar’s what they get for hiring a dog to work in a sausage factory, I guess. Literally…
Day 3: Success! I found a job! It’s downtown, at a place called Shoggoth Accounting. Wonder why that sounds familiar…
Day 4: I know why it sounds familiar. And I’m currently writing this from the hospital. Ow. It’s not too bad here. You get free Ice Cream, and TV! I even think one of the nurses winked at me!
Day 6: I’m back on the job hunt. They released me early, musta firured if I was well enough to try and get laid by one of the nurses, I was well enough to leave. Anyway, I’ve got a new interview lined up! This time it’s at the Newspaper for my town, so (Maybe!) good pay!
Day 7: Man, I didn’t even get past the interview on that one. And thanks to my decision to get good and drunk beforehand, now I’ve got a hangover. I wonder if I can type any quieter…
Day 9: I got mugged on my way to my last interview yesterday, which is why I didn’t have an entry yesterday. And I didn’t get the job. Guess I needed to take the knife out of my spleen first…
Day 10: I’m gonna try Radio next. I was looking for NPR, and I think I found it, but I think I got the address wrong. What’s this about black Helicopters?
Day 11: That was embarrassing. They sent me in to say something about Aliens, and because I got the wrong NPR, tried to do a pledge drive for them. The station manager told me that this was National Paranoia Radio, not National Public Radio. I was wondering about that when I was asked to say something about the FBI, which I blew royally, but I didn’t know the FBI was trying to put mind-control chips in my brain! (Are they? Creepy…)
Day 12: I got a little desperate today, and tried the Military, but they said I wasn’t allowed to be recruited. Something about a “Watch List.” (Wonder if this has anything to do with that plane I tried to build out of tinfoil and power with napalm once.)
Day 13: I’m working for a clothing store now. I got bored during the break, so I named the Manikins! Te one in the western wear section is named Clint, The one in the Ladies section is named Rosetta, and the one that always wears Jeans is named…Jean!
Day 14: I think Jean and Rosetta are plotting against me. I left my nametag on the counter during my lunch break, and when I came back, instead of saying, “Hello, my name is Paul”, it said, “Hello, my name is Rover”! And both Rosetta and Jean had moved! Something must be done!
Day 15: The manager said he had no control over the manikins, that they could not POSSIBLY be moving, it was all in my head, and shouldn’t I be getting back to work now? Well
I’ll show them. I’ll have to take more drastic measures…
Day 16: I got fired today. It was totally uncalled for! So what if I lit Jean up like a firecracker in the parking lot, and made both Rosetta and Clint watch him burn? So what if I stuffed a stick of Dynamite in Clints’s Head and blew off everything from the waist up? So what if I stabbed Rosetta in the gut and watched her foam-stuffing fall out of her midriff? THEY WERE PLOTTING AGAINST ME!
Day 18: Some nice policemen put me in jail for a little bit last night. I think it was good for my mind, let me take a break for a little while, you know? Anyway, This new Job has promise! They even recommended it! I’m going to be a janitor at the Mental Asylum! Things are looking bright!
Doctor’s Note, Dr. Wahnsinnig, PHD.
We found this on the patients’ laptop after he came in yesterday. The patient, a mister Paul Kirby, was aparently fired, and the stress of having to find a new job got to him. I recommend he stays here for at least a month, and then we should reevaluate him.
Best Regards,
John Wahnsinnig
==============================
Day 1: Well, It finally happened yesterday. I got fired. (I guess Bring-Your-Own-Bazooka-To-Work-Day was a prank.) I’m going job searching today. Wish me Luck!
Day 2: That last one didn’t go so well. I think they were looking for Vegetarians, as opposed to what the ad said, because they really didn’t like my “Free Sampling” of their product. Thar’s what they get for hiring a dog to work in a sausage factory, I guess. Literally…
Day 3: Success! I found a job! It’s downtown, at a place called Shoggoth Accounting. Wonder why that sounds familiar…
Day 4: I know why it sounds familiar. And I’m currently writing this from the hospital. Ow. It’s not too bad here. You get free Ice Cream, and TV! I even think one of the nurses winked at me!
Day 6: I’m back on the job hunt. They released me early, musta firured if I was well enough to try and get laid by one of the nurses, I was well enough to leave. Anyway, I’ve got a new interview lined up! This time it’s at the Newspaper for my town, so (Maybe!) good pay!
Day 7: Man, I didn’t even get past the interview on that one. And thanks to my decision to get good and drunk beforehand, now I’ve got a hangover. I wonder if I can type any quieter…
Day 9: I got mugged on my way to my last interview yesterday, which is why I didn’t have an entry yesterday. And I didn’t get the job. Guess I needed to take the knife out of my spleen first…
Day 10: I’m gonna try Radio next. I was looking for NPR, and I think I found it, but I think I got the address wrong. What’s this about black Helicopters?
Day 11: That was embarrassing. They sent me in to say something about Aliens, and because I got the wrong NPR, tried to do a pledge drive for them. The station manager told me that this was National Paranoia Radio, not National Public Radio. I was wondering about that when I was asked to say something about the FBI, which I blew royally, but I didn’t know the FBI was trying to put mind-control chips in my brain! (Are they? Creepy…)
Day 12: I got a little desperate today, and tried the Military, but they said I wasn’t allowed to be recruited. Something about a “Watch List.” (Wonder if this has anything to do with that plane I tried to build out of tinfoil and power with napalm once.)
Day 13: I’m working for a clothing store now. I got bored during the break, so I named the Manikins! Te one in the western wear section is named Clint, The one in the Ladies section is named Rosetta, and the one that always wears Jeans is named…Jean!
Day 14: I think Jean and Rosetta are plotting against me. I left my nametag on the counter during my lunch break, and when I came back, instead of saying, “Hello, my name is Paul”, it said, “Hello, my name is Rover”! And both Rosetta and Jean had moved! Something must be done!
Day 15: The manager said he had no control over the manikins, that they could not POSSIBLY be moving, it was all in my head, and shouldn’t I be getting back to work now? Well
I’ll show them. I’ll have to take more drastic measures…
Day 16: I got fired today. It was totally uncalled for! So what if I lit Jean up like a firecracker in the parking lot, and made both Rosetta and Clint watch him burn? So what if I stuffed a stick of Dynamite in Clints’s Head and blew off everything from the waist up? So what if I stabbed Rosetta in the gut and watched her foam-stuffing fall out of her midriff? THEY WERE PLOTTING AGAINST ME!
Day 18: Some nice policemen put me in jail for a little bit last night. I think it was good for my mind, let me take a break for a little while, you know? Anyway, This new Job has promise! They even recommended it! I’m going to be a janitor at the Mental Asylum! Things are looking bright!
Doctor’s Note, Dr. Wahnsinnig, PHD.
We found this on the patients’ laptop after he came in yesterday. The patient, a mister Paul Kirby, was aparently fired, and the stress of having to find a new job got to him. I recommend he stays here for at least a month, and then we should reevaluate him.
Best Regards,
John Wahnsinnig
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