Floyd Barber, Motivational Warehouse Supervisor
Who the hell gave you the right to change the radio station on the warehouse stereo? Did I give you permission to turn my shipping facility into a god-damned mosh-pit? Our national office spent a shit-wad of cash on marketing analysts so that they could provide us with the right choice for ambient audio stimulation, to make you dog-humping shitbags just a little bit more motivated to do the jobs you’re already overpaid to do.
But you sir, think that you can just walk in and turn my warehouse into a rap-nasium. I don’t want to hear about your Snoop-Doggy-Poop or your Smooth-Flavoured-Shit. You leave the dial on easy-listening, or after I’m through with you, all you’ll be able to tune into will be hard-of-hearing, because your bell will still be ringing.
I don’t want to hear your lame excuses. You are already deep enough in the shit to require a snorkel. I’m thinking that I should start calling you “creamed corn”, because you’re going to be canned if you keep up with this shit.
I’m going to be easy on you just this one time; I remember one time when a young Floyd Barber tried to put a little music from Elvis Presley over the speakers. Sure I was punished, but I was foolish and arrogant like you are now, and I deserved it.
Next time though, I’ll put my blue-suede shoes so far up your backside you’ll be shitting suede for a month.
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