A couple of month’s ago my employers had the temerity to make me redundant. They were obviously unappreciative of all the magic that was created by my sheer presence.
Instead, they decided to go down the path to rack and ruin without their A+ prime time player.
A few months have passed, and my delusions of grandeur have subsided only mildly, I have found myself having to go through the indignity of signing on.
A temporary glitch in the Matrix indeed, and after the usual bureaucratic faff, I’m sat in front of Mr Smith himself.
I made the effort to look fresh as f**k, along with cravat and gloriously camp oversized pocket hanky; my aim was to impress this gentleman.
Naturally, after dining with Dukes and Maharaja’s this experience was far from Supercalifragilistic.
My pittance was assigned to me, which was designed to ‘help’ me find work. Even though it…
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