Dead Fish in a Box

The chronicles of a suburban fishpimp trying to keep it rural.

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Location: United States

Monday, November 28, 2005

T-minus 24 hours

Tomorrow is my final day as a professional Fishpimp. Despite many friends here, I am quite ready to leave. The Norwegian keeps telling me what I'm going to miss about working here. "Dude, you know you're gonna miss the edge of this place. You're gonna miss the edginess." No, no I don't think I will. One thing I will miss is the informal pledging process one goes through before the sales team truly accepts a new rep into the fold. It took me a good three years. Others haven't survived the ordeal (see: the big bird). We brought a new rep on board today. He's already got one strike against him: his last position was in auto sales.

Strike two came when we noticed his immaculately trimmed eyebrows. The Fishhouse does not abide with Metrosexuals. While he's out training in the warehouse we're all sitting around, Simon included, thinking up nicknames. Seriously, it's like the Shark Tank scene from Austin Powers - one bad pun after another.

-Seriously, we've gotta use that somehow - but we have to be careful - we don't want to brow-beat him!
-Yeah, he might lash out at someone!
- Be careful - he'll f***ing wax your a**!

I bet Cat Sh*t/Chainsaw (see 9/2/04) is glad there's a new guy to pick on.

My last task is to find someone to maintain the list of Simonisms in my absence. Gotta have at least a little content on this rag of a website.

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