Sorry Bill! Bill isn’t his name, but if you recognize yourself in this story, you know who you are. Bill works for me, one of the best guys I have ever worked with. The dude got shit done. You never asked Bill how he was going to accomplish something. It was like working for the mafia. You just told Bill that you needed 25 RPGs in two weeks and voila a week and a half later you got 25 RPGs and a box of donuts on your desk with a sticky note that said “your welcome.” We all know some shady shit more than likely went down. But, like the Clinton years. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Bill was like an ace up your sleeve. The dude would show up with a never before seen beater ass car, sporting a bath robe like the Dude from the Big Lebowski; shovels, a bag of lime, duct tape, and a harbor freight special blue tarp in the trunk and a case of natty light after you drunk called him at 3:30 in the morning. I think you get the point. Love you brother. lol.
Bill worked for me, and Bill was in charge of a lot of shit. He oversaw with the assistance of some other team members a group of contractors that also worked for me. Bill, comes to me and tells me about a guy we will call Andrew.
I’ll do my best to paint a picture of this individual for you. Taller, probably 5’10”, 5’11”. Dark hair. Imagine 80s hair band mixed with death metal hair, but greasy like pepperoni pizza. Zits and an obvious history of acne. Soft as warm soft serve ice cream. Titties that would make a dairy cow blush. Wore a black leather jacket and was shaped like a pear. Duck walk and all. I’m not saying this stuff to be hurtful. I’m paint a picture that will become very important to the story later on. The dude looked like he was a 45 year old man child that lived in his mother’s basement. But his mother didn’t have a basement and lived in a single wide trailer down at the sunset estates. I am trailer folk so I can make fun; back the fuck up, Karen. I’ll upper-cunt you. What is upper-cunt you may ask? It’s where you upper-cut a dude so hard it causes his you know what to become a you know what. — Back to the story. Dude was paler than milk.
Bill comes to me and tells me some people are complaining about Andrew’s bathing routine, specifically the lack of it. And how they had told him he needed to shower, but he refused to. So there I am talking to Andrew along with Bill. I tell Andrew he needs to shower at least three times a week, and that I would dictate to him what days he would shower, and that I would inspect him on those days to ensure he was showering. This was all under the threat of me firing him and cancelling his contract due to failure of maintaining a cooperative work environment. Andrew followed through and it got to the point where I would only randomly inspect him.
Months later Bill stops by my office and tells me that Andrew has an OnlyFans appointment this afternoon. I was intrigued. I had never had an OnlyFans appointment before and I wanted to ask Andrew what he was going to ask the OnlyFans model to do for him.
Andrew walks by my office door at the end of the day and I yell his name. He stops and turns to my door. He responds to my call with a “yes, sir!” The thought crashes through my head, “I am not a fucking Sir! I am a god damn working man, I didn’t spend my career in classrooms, scuffing up my knee pads, trying to swallow the gravy in the hopes that I get promoted.” But, my rant would have been wasted upon Andrew’s warm soft served pizza pocket munching civilian mind, and I didn’t want to lose my opportunity to ask him about his OnlyFans appointment.
“I was told you had an OnlyFans appointment this afternoon”? Andrew physically shakes as a response to my question, and the following question sloppily falls out of his mouth. “Who told you that?”
I respond with “that doesn’t matter, tell me about your appointment. Tell me what you are going to ask the model. I am just curious, I have never had an OnlyFans appointment”. Andrew asked me what I meant by “asking the model”? And I thought to myself, “this mother fucker is dumb, he is so smart he fucking retarded”. I responded with “like are you going to ask the model if she would put a whistle in her butt and blow it?” And Andrew responded with “they ask me to do things”.
“What the fuck?” Am I going crazy?
“What the fuck did you just say?”
— In a tone that you would use to explain something to a toddler for the third time. Just slow, Andrew says “Theeeey ask-kk meee toooo dooo thinggggggs!”
My mind is doing fucking back flips, the room is spinning because of the weirdness. “Hold the front door! You are telling me that people pay you to do things on OnlyFans!”
“Yeah!” Is Andrew’s response.
I am floored, my brain is numb. The snozzberries taste like snozzberries. “What do they ask you to do?” I gulp out.
He responds with “it’s mostly involves spray can whipped cream.”
I tell him “you cant leave me there hanging, what do you do with the whipped cream?”
Andrew responds with “mostly spray it on my nipples and they watch me lick it off.”
I respond with a visible shake. And Andrew senses fear so he pounces.
He throws in “some times they make me cover my self from head to toe in whipped cream and make me do the truffle shuffle naked while my wiener slaps back and forth on my thighs.”
And for the coup de grace he throws at me “sometimes they want me to cover myself head to toe in whipped cream, act like I am hanging myself with a black trash bag while I shuffle my ruffle.”
I am thoroughly defeated but I attempt one last futile stand. “Is it mostly men or women that are your fans?”
Andrew responded with “you’ll have to pay the subscription fees to figure that one out.”
I was done. I could no longer even attempt to stand toe to toe with this absolute giant of a man on the battle field of the absurd.
I had to find Bill to tell him the story.
Bill was even more dumb founded then I was. Bill only passively believed my story as he thought that only something that absurd could come from my mind.
Bill, vowed to talk to Andrew himself.
Later that day, Bill comes into my office and sits down like he had been outside digging holes all day in the scorching heat. Bill looks at me with an exhausted face and says “what the fuck was that?”
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