I Am a Bad Ass - Herbert Kornfeld
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I Am a Bad Ass </H1><BR CLEAR="LEFT">
<B>By Herbert Kornfeld <BR>
Accounts Receivable Supervisor</B>
<P>
YO, waaasssuuup, baby? H-Dog is back, and don't nobody fuck with this BADASS. You wanna fuck me,
motherfucker? You gonna wish you didn't. 'Cause
I the Accounts Receivable supervisor of Midstate Office Supply, and I AM
a cold-blooded badass motherfucker, and if you fuck with me I'll go stone
cold crazy on your ass. </P><P>
Like that motherfucker Steve Englebreiter of Associated Publishing House.
Asshole thought he could postdate his goddamn check on a bill that was overdue
for nearly a month and a half. I caught it right before we was ready to
deposit it. Don't tell me it was no mistake; cocksucker knew what he was
doing all along. Know what I did? Sent the goddamn thing right back along
with a note saying we be passing his account along to a collection agency
in two weeks if his bitch ass didn't pay up. </P><P>
Now, legally, we only supposed to notify our collection agency after 90
days, not a month and a half. But I didn't have to tell thefool that. Three
days later cocksucker sends us a cashier's check via overnight mail for
the full amount. Ain't nobody fucks with my badass self. </P><P>
Or take that ol' bitch Mildred Fladner who's always callin' up, bitchin'
about her credit balance. </P><P>
"Those staplers only cost $36.50 for the half-dozen, not $38.50. Your
cashier rung it up wrong." </P><P>
Then how come you didn't notice it then, y'ol ho? She high and everybody
know it, but she make such a big deal about knowing the company president
and everything she got everybody runnin' scared. Except this BAD ASS.
</P><P>
So I go downstairs to the register she bought the staplers at, reset the
date, duplicate the cashier number and purchase number, and ring the goddamn
shit up at $39.50. Then I call her back sayin' I found the original detail
tape and check it out, it looks like you owe us a dollar additional, plus
extra sales tax, your own receipt must have come out poor. A week later
I get a payment for the full amount, with her apologies. I pocket the extra
buck and change, spend it on a lotto ticket, and win five bucks. It's payback
time for that bitch. </P><P>
Now don't be messin' me up with the Accounts Payable Supervisor. The Accounts
Payable Supervisor, he ain't no badass. Hell, he ain't even no man. His
name is Myron or something, and he so old he can't even get it up no more.
I gots a bitch in the cash room. Myron, everybody laugh at him. He supposed
to be the one that got the money but everybody know I got it and it's no
even my job. </P><P>
If I ever see you within even six feet of the coffee machine I'll Bruce
Lee on your sorry ass. Mister Coffee, he my man. 'Cause only I know the
perfect proportion: two and three eighths scoops of Folgers to three and
one quarter cups of water. Ain't no use trying to do it yourself 'cause
you'll just fuck it up; only I can do it right. 'Cause I got Kung Fu Grip.
You got a problem with that? I got a problem with your existence, motherfucker.
I was fucking your mother while you were still watching <I>Fat Albert</I>
in yo' Underoos. </P><P>
I don't answer to nobody. One day I be blastin' the phat beats, and the
company president come up to me and say, "Herbert, the Muzak is too
loud, please turn down the receiver." I say, "I need my tunes
when I be preparing account statements." Then he say, "I don't
care, turn it down, it's distracting." So you know what I do? After
he leaves for the day I steal a shitload of mints from his desk. He gets
the message, and he don't give me no trouble no more. I be fucking his wife
on the sly, anyhow. </P><P>
So don't fuck with this H-Dog Daddy Mack Mack Daddy Comin' Out Your Ass
Badass, 'cause if you do I be comin' after you like pastrami on rye to whip
your muthafukin' sorry ass. I mean it. Don't. Fuck. With. Me.</P>
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