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Mort, the Shit Manager is a spin-off fictional series of short stories based loosely on the thoughts of David Mortenson, the tyrannical Kwiksave store manager who features in my auto-biographical series 'The Horrors of Kwiksave'.
- Mort as a Stock Lad -
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Flat Arse' - (March 1974)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Mort's Interview' - (March 1974)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Armchair Club' - (May 1974)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Fresh Cream' - (November 1978)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Demise of Reginald Bulge' - (January 1979)
- Mort as a Manager -
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Oxidation' - (July 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Fart Councilling' - (July 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Mandy's Interview' - (October 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Mandy's Curves' - (November 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Bribe' - (November 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Agnus' - (December 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Bloody Nose' - (July 1980)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Brent's 'Druff' - (September 1980)
- Mort as a Manager with 
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Oppression Supreme' - (December 1980)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Heat Machine' - (March 1981)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Day Off' - (April 1981)
...'September 1980'...
...'WARNING - ADULT CONTENT'...
“Brent, Brennnnntttt, BRENNNNTTTTTT… where the fuck are you?”
Mort was anxious, agitated, and at breaking point. An impromptu telephone call from Elton Welsby, the highly volatile Area Manager had seriously unhinged him.
"David, this week there will be an extra load arriving on Wednesday. This is as well as the usual Tuesday and Friday deliveries. I want those goods on the shelves immediately, and I am warning you.., failure to deliver will mean a personal visit and probable demotion.”
Before Mort had a chance to answer, Elton continued in his customary brusque tone.
“You do know of Mr. Bulge's younger brother I assume? He’s ambitious, ruthless, driven, and blames you for the death of his brother, the other Mr. Bulge. He also wants your store and I am prepared to give it to him if you can’t deliver”
Mort had heard some gossip about Ronald Bulge, who from all accounts looked exactly like Reginald Bulge. A feeling of dread drifted across him followed by a disturbing memory; one of terrible pungent, repugnant odours, a huge oversized arse directed at his face, followed by a torrent of loud farts, and finally that abhorrent, gleeful guffaw from his former manager.
Having suffered years of abuse from Bulge, Mort was hearing stories on the Kwiksave grapevine about the emergence of this new ‘Junior Bulge' and now the threat to his store.
Source
...'Rumour was that Ronald Bulge looked exactly like the late Reginald Bulge, but were his deviances identical?'...
Where was that useless, long-haired, lazy, dim-witted Stock Lad anyway? If he had to lock him in the store to finish the pallets, he was prepared to do so.
Brent was close, too close, could hear Mort's ranting, heavy breathing, and kept very quiet in the nearby walk-in fridge. Taking the final silent bite from a stolen Walls Cornish Pasty he folded the wrapper carefully, pocketed it with the intention of disposal later, and hoped Mort could not hear munching, crunching sounds.
...'the humble Walls Cornish Pasty; necessary sustenance and often eaten illegally by starving underpaid Kwiksave Stock Lads'...
It was time to move, he couldn’t hide forever and besides, his appetite was now sated. Grabbing a box of Lurpack he opened the fridge door feigning surprise as Mort turned to face him.
“Where have you been, no doubt eating Kwiksave goods again?”
The accusation came hard and fast taking the dim-witted Brent by surprise.
“Errr… I..I am filling up the butter Mr. Mortenson”, came the weak delayed riposte.
Mort’s eyes squinted as he rounded on Brent looking intently at him and moved closer. Brent stared back somewhat dazed by this unexpected outburst.
“Why are there crumbs on your face? You have been eating the goods again, MY GOODS…, MY OFFICE NOW!”
Mort stormed from the back shop slamming the large sliding door with a loud bang.
After several minutes, Brent slovenly approached the one-way glass office, installed in all Kwiksave supermarkets while Mort watched every step.
He wasn't entirely certain Brent had been eating pastries but needed to vent on someone and this dimwit was a suitable candidate.
Knock knock…
The door flew open after the customary 30-second wait with a fired-up Mort at the ready.
"DO YOU SEE THESE..., WRITTEN WARNING LETTERS FOR IMBECILES WHO LIKE TO EAT KWIKSAVE GOODS", he yelled, gnashing his teeth while waving around a sheaf of papers.. Some customers awaiting the checkouts looked up in interest, drawn to the unexpected drama.
"Mr. M..M..Mortenson sir, those were not crumbs on my cheeks, it was m-my ‘druff”
Mort stared at Brent puzzled.
Without warning, Brent pushed his head toward Mort and shook it vigorously aided by both of his hands. Huge flakes of dandruff erupted from his scalp landing on both of them, causing Mort to step back hastily in alarm.
“See… ‘druff!”, he proclaimed; a stupid gormless grin was starting to appear on his face widening by the second.
A few stray flakes had settled on his nose and cheeks that could have been mistaken for Pasty crumbs.
“Ugh…, that’s fucking foul”, said Mort in disgust raising many more eyebrows from the nearby waiting customers, some of which had drawn closer to the office in an attempt to hear every word.
"Should I get back to the pallets Mr. Mortenson?”, said Brent now grinning and revelling in the misguided attention of his new audience.
Wordlessly, Mort slammed the office door closed still brushing off many huge chunks of dandruff from his bright red 'Managers' overall.
That brainless attention seeking twat was heading for the sack, one more step out of line and he would personally boot his arse out of the front door.
Mort, the Shit Manager is a Serial Shitposting Fiction Story inspired by Torundel the Shitposter by 
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