Santa's 'Lil Wage Slave [Work Thread/Galaxicon Day]

Aright, so the money ain't comin' in and I gotta take drastic measures. It ain't stealin', it ain't killin', it ain't suckin' dick fer money and Azmodeus knows I considered that lemme tell ya it's baaaaaaad.

I might hafta start workin' fer minimum wage.

I know, it's a shit sammich but you just gotta take a bite. Fuggen hate workin' fer people, me I like to be self employed. Ya make as much dough as yer willin' to put in. But the dough just ain't risin' so I'm outta bread, ya understand? Pumpernickel. Anywho I figure I'd do somethin' I'm good at and there ain't room for a whole lotta that around here. Pretty sure I'd be sittin' behind bars if I offered up my services takin' shit, lemme just tell the town crier I'm a fuggen thief cuz that'll go real swell. Town ain't need no locksmiths neither, least none that I know from askin' random jagoffs on the street. Life's a bitch when ya can't fuggen read, a frosty frosty bitch. So I bet you're wonderin': just what the fuggam I doin'? And I'd tell you if ya shut yer cock holster for a goddamn second I'd tell ya so listen the fuggup. I'm deliverin' packages, see? Apparently cuz'a Gelatto Day everythin's backed up worse than a troll after strollin' through a gnomish hamlet. So's I find the place I think is it an' I knock an' wait. Tall motherfucker answers the door.

"Top'a the fuggen mornin' to ya," I says with a nice friendly grin what's prolly got bugs in it. Ain't gonna lie that shit's good protein when yer poor. Better than the other kinda protein I was considerin' fillin' my mouth with, kaaa ha h*aaaack ack!*
"Are you the help?" he asks me, pointin' with his fuggen tentacles or whatever the shit he's got goin' on. Place is fulla fuggen weirdos.
"Prolly not the kind that you need but I'm hear fer the job."
"I uhh... I don't think you quite fit our qualifications..." This motherfucker here...
"The fuck you mean not qualified? I'm here, I get around, you need shit delivered and you ain't got people to do it. I'm yer fuggen man is what I is."
"Well... I suppose you're short enough..." The fuck does that supposed to mean? Motherfucker I ain't short, all you fuggen jagoffs are too damn tall.
"Alright, we can hire you for the intermittent courier shortage but there will be a few caveats..."
"Perfect! I'm fuggen starvin' over here, been eatin' the roaches off the walls."
"I... bet you have... anyway, we're doing a themed promotion for this delivery period. Every courier needs to be thematic in dress."
"Can my theme be I ain't got no money so I don't have to do no stupid bullshit?"
"Sorry, you still have to do the stupid bull- I-I mean follow the dress code of the promotional period. I'll cut to the chase: I need you to dress up as one of Galaxacon's elves."
"...buddy, not enough makeup in all the fuggen planes gonna make me look like an elf."
"Not exactly! You see, you will have to wear a costume much like this one." Then he holds up this jingly ruffly piece'a shit that looks like gnomes make fun'a it.
"No fuggen deal, this shit's fuggen degradin'."
"I'm sorry but rules are rules, if you want the job you need to be an elf. Everyone must be in costume."
"Okay wiggly, how come the fuck you ain't in no costume? You ain't even wearin' fuggen pants."
"I, err, am The Holy Spirit of Galaxacon and everyone knows ghosts don't wear clothes. Also I'm allergic to fabric."
"Yeah I fuggen bet you are..."
"A-Anyway! No costume, no job."
"Aright aright! I'll wear yer stupid gnome getup but I wanna be compensated fer this stupid shit."
"All employees, temporary or permanent, are only allotted their basic salary and any bonus pay for extra hours spent."
"Then I get to keep the costume when I'm done with this shit."
"I'm sorry I can't do that. Company policy."
"So yer tellin' me ya fuggen want it back after it's been ridin' my sweaty junk all day?"
"......"
"I ain't wearin' underwear. An' that's as much a condition as it is a statement'a fuggen fact."
"Point taken. You may keep the costume but I will have to dock your pay its cost."
"I really fuggen hate you, ya know that?"
"Good, you acclimate to the work environment well. Now get dressed! Chop chop!" I'll fuggen chop chop ya fuggen stupid jellyfish motherfucker...


So's I'm walking through the Middle Ward and people are givin' me funny looks. Can't blame'em. I would look at me funny too, I'm a funny lookin' motherfucker. This costume is fuggen stupid lookin' too. Got bells that jangle every step I take and the stupid ass hat and these shorts are ridin' up my ass somethin' fierce. Can't wait to burn this shit when I get done with it, I only wanted it fer the fuggen bells. Figure I could make a trip alarm outta'em. So anyway they gave me a map an' a list of addresses of where to drop this shit off at, got the sack on my back all fulla gifts an' whatnot when it hits me like a halflin' I made foot jokes about too many times.

I can't fuggen read.

I have no goddamn clue where all this shit's goin', not in the fuggen slightest. So instead'a callin' it quits I stick to my fuggen guns. I go up and down the street there and just start puttin' packages on doorsteps. Merry fuggen Christmas ya filthy fucks. I'm givin' somethin' to somebody, I guess that's worth a hard day's pay. I get that shit done in half the time, real proud'a myself there. So what if people ain't get what they wanted? Better than fuggen nuthin' an' not a damn way they can check. An' I get to take this damn costume off and drink til I forget, good day all the fuck around.