Assistants

It’s a good thing I am not the head of a major corporation. If I was then I would only hire people I knew and hot women. Maybe a few ringers too for an annual softball game against my rival company, GloboTek. Who knows though, maybe one day I will be the head of a major corporation. I already share a name with the head of Columbia Sportswear. Irish men all look-alike anyway. The transition will be seamless as I take his place. That is after he dies of alcohol poisoning or IRA bomb. I’m pretty sure that’s how all Irish people die.

I’ve always wanted an assistant though. A real yes man. Someone who tells me how awesome I am all of the time. For now I’ll have to settle for using my Home Alone 2 voice recorder. I’m kidding of course. My parents never loved me enough to buy me that recorder. That’s probably a good thing. Those things were recalled in 1995 after being linked to ear cancer.

(“Get out of here you nosey little pervert!” – the uncle in Home Alone 2 and Mr. Culkin when Michael Jackson snuck into Macauley’s bedroom via ladder)

If I did have a real life assistant though there would be many tasks for them to do. I won’t mention sex slaves because I don’t also want my sex slave cleaning my bathroom. That’s a bit of a turn-off. Like farting on a first date. Did she really think that would get a good reaction from me? Farts are hilarious. Never to be used in August in a car without air conditioning or windows that can be lowered. Cleaning my bathroom would be one of the most important tasks for my assistant. For some reason I’m a very linty person. I could make an AIDS quilt out of all of the black lint I find in my belly button. Are AIDS quilts black? That seems kind of gloomy. I’d imagine most are neon pink, the happy cheerful non-death color.

(AIDS quilts have such a Native American influence to them when it comes to the color schemes)

My assistant would also be required to drive me places. I hate driving. I get so agitated by everyone. I call all women with kids “mom”, all old people “grandpa”, and everyone else a “fucking whore.” Driving with me is the least pleasant experience one could have. Really, I’m a good driver. I’d go into why I’m fantastic but I don’t want to brag about all of the hit-and-runs I’ve successfully escaped from. I might make the driver wear a hat. I haven’t decided on that. Definitely if it’s a woman though. She’d have to wear a baseball cap. Have I ever mentioned how much I love it when girls wear “caps”? It’s so cute watching a woman pretend to be a fan of sports.

(Alyssa Milano likes her air baseball caps and air conditioning. See her nipple for further understanding)

Giving me encouragement is another thing that my assistant would do. While working out, they would shout out encouraging things like “You can do it!”, “Makin’ copies”, “Hi, I’m Deuce Bigelow”, and other lines that Rob Schneider is known for. My assistant would prepare many meals for me. They’d tell me how proud they were when I cleaned my plate and I’d laugh and ask for another manwich. Encouragement is the most vital of things an assistant can do for its master. Yes. My assistant will be forced to call me master. If it was up to me, everyone would call me master. It would make me feel more like the southern gentleman that I am.

(Southern Gentlemen always wear white. It lets us know they don’t have shit in their pants)

The rest of my daily chores would be accomplished with my assistant. We’d do laundry together and gossip about mutual enemies. Vacuuming would involve my assistant chasing me around with the Dirt Devil. We’d laugh and I’d know deep down inside that my assistant was only pretending to enjoy themselves in hopes of getting a raise. I’d joke that spending time with me was worth enough. They’d agree because they’re Polish and don’t want to go back to their home country.

I may even take my assistant places. I’m not so cruel that they’d never be allowed to leave the apartment. Rarely will they be allowed, but for celebrations like my birthday or my half-birthday they’ll be allowed to leave to attend the party. Of course they’ll have to do all of the planning and setting up. They’re my assistant. Not my thing to worry about. I’d also love for my assistant to go out to bars with me. They’d hype me up to women. Maybe put a few roofies in drinks and I could swoop in and knock them out of the hand last second. I’ll be a hero. The ladies will swoon over me and my assistant will drive us all back to my place while we make-out in the backseat. I know all bugs are supposed to have a purpose. I don’t know what ladybugs do other than hide in bathrooms. At least roofies can help me look like a cool dude.

(Collared shirt, sunglasses, and one of those cloth hats picnic table hats. So cool)

Please apply if you think this would be a good job for you. I would mostly enjoying a female as the maid outfit I purchased seems to be made more for that of a woman’s body. But I will not discriminate. As long as you’re willing to do whatever I tell you to do we’ll be a perfect match.

*This blog post has no affiliation to the one similarly done by A Gripping Life a few months back. I am terrified of being sued.