Bo departed for work the next morning in a foul mood. He was upset because Boss Banky was going to chop off his fuckstick and eat it if he didn’t get the penny count right, and he knew that Boss Banky would make it almost impossible to succeed in saving his shaft. His commute to work was typical, and he arrived with several new trampling bruises all over his body. Cum Unity Bank was on the corner of a busy intersection, which Bo had long ago stopped trying to cross on foot after several cars had hit him and just kept going. He walked in through the two sets of doors and went over to his desk, in the back, in an area out of sight of any customers.
The pile of pennies on his desk was especially high today. Bo sat down and read the note his boss had left him, once again hearing his depraved guttural voice in his head. “Dear Bo, if you do not count all these pennies today with perfect accuracy, I am going to tie you down, inject your fuckstick with Viagra, then slice it off. Then I’ll tie off the open end so the blood doesn’t leak out while I deep-fry it. Then I will eat your fuckstick in front of you as I laugh in your face. The whole thing will be filmed and you will be forced to watch it several times a day for the rest of your career. Hate, Boss Banky.”
Bo did not look forward to any of those things. He thought of them all as very negative. Perhaps that was the problem, he mused, that he did not view his suffering as a good thing, when God clearly enjoyed it. Bo began sliding the pennies across the desk, one by one, counting in his head and doing his best to not reflect on the terrifying implications of God’s hatred for him, or wonder what serious sin he committed to warrant such cruelty from the Lord.
In the distance, he heard a crash and Boss Banky saying some very inappropriate curse words. He furtively glanced towards the source of the noise and saw Boss Banky walking towards him, extremely drunk: red in the face, barely able to walk, with fresh vomit all over his shirt. “Bo! I see you looking at me, you fucking idiot! As soon as I get over there I’m going to do something fucked up to you!” Bo kept counting his pennies as quickly as possible to make up for the time he was about to lose. When Boss Banky was close enough to smell, Bo repeated the penny count he was at several times in his head.
“Look at me, you fucking dipshit! You goddamn twat! You dick sucking monkey fuck face retard dipshit fuck!” Boss Banky was screaming in Bo’s ear. Bo had never seen Boss Banky this bad, and knew his drug and alcohol use and depraved sexual exploits must have been very extreme since Bo last saw him. “FUCKING IDIOT I HATE YOU SO MUCH! DIE BO!!! DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE” Boss Banky shouted right in Bo’s face, spittle shooting into Bo’s eyes.
“Are you okay sir? You seem distressed,” Bo said quietly and respectfully. He wondered how much cocaine and videos of women having sex with animals it took to get someone into such a demonic state. Boss Banky vomited onto Bo’s lap and collapsed. Bo continued to look at him, but he remained motionless.
Could it be true? No, it was too good to be true. But here it was. Boss Banky’s depraved debauchery had incapacitated him, and Bo could do his job until Boss Banky woke up. He hurriedly returned to his penny counting, not even bothering to clean up any of the wet vomit covering him.
By the time Boss Banky woke up, the vomit on Bo’s clothes was completely dry, and the pile of pennies was half gone. Bo had been counting more quickly and accurately than ever before. He was proud of himself. Boss Banky got up slowly and clutched his forehead with both hands. “Ohhh shit, I partied way too fucking hard last night. I must have gone through $7,000 worth of hookers and crack. I’m so hungover.” Then he took his hands away from his head and saw Bo. “You! Hey, you fucking idiot retard stupid! If you don’t count all those pennies perfectly, I’m gonna eat your fried fuckstick!”
“I know, I read your note,” Bo replied, continuing to count the pennies as fast as possible.
“Oh so you think you’re so fucking smart, do you, you goddamn retard? You already know everything I’m gonna say before I say it.” Boss Banky stood up on the desk next to Bo’s, drawing an angry look from the person working at it, and declared loudly, waving his arms with the first few words, “Attention everyone, I have good news. We have a fucking genius in our midst. Bo here is so fucking brilliant that he can read goddamn minds apparently. Let’s all give a big round of applause to the most retarded genius to ever live! Yayyy Bo!” Boss Banky clapped sarcastically and then hopped down from the desk and back handed him on the face so hard that Bo’s spinny chair did three full rotations.
“You left me two notes that indicated that this was the plan for work today, sir. I don’t know what you’re going to say and I don’t think I’m smarter than you,” Bo said. He had started counting his pennies immediately after he stopped spinning.
“You think you’re better than me? Is that what you’re saying, you fucking squinty-eyed bitch? I’ll show you who better is!” Boss Banky ran off, apparently to fetch something, and Bo sighed. At least he could work for a few minutes while Boss Banky retrieved whatever he was looking for. But just twenty seconds later he saw something shiny coming towards him out of the corner of his eye. Boss Banky was running at him with a very large and very sharp sword. Bo instantly assessed that it was real and deadly. He saw murder in Boss Banky’s eyes. Bo got up and ran towards the bathroom and could hear the sword slicing through the air just behind him as he ran around desks. “I’m gonna fucking murder you Bo! I’m gonna fucking murder you!” Bo got into the bathroom, a one-person unisex bathroom, and locked the door behind him. He heard Boss Banky loudly slicing at the thick wooden door. “Get back to work, Bo!” He said, cackling insanely. “We’re not paying you to piss and shit!”
Bo’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might jump out of his chest. So this is how it ends, Bo thought sadly, Murdered by a midget with a sword who’s going through crack withdrawal. He got on his knees, pressed his hands together and looked at the ceiling to curse God one last time before he died and went to hell. God, Bo prayed, Fuck you for everything you’ve done to me. I hope you had fun making my life shitty, you sick sadistic fuck.
Suddenly, the slicing at the door stopped, and Bo heard Boss Banky walk away.
Posted in: Shortened Stories