Source: Image by @katharsisdrill
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 the Shit Manager: 'Oppression Supreme'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Armchair Club'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Bloody Nose'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Fresh Cream'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Oxidation'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Day Off'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Heat Machine'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Mandy's Curves'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Bribe'
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Flat Arse'
Mort Gaped.
He was a slightly chunky lad, just out of school, and confident in his abilities to climb the corporate ladder. What an opportunity he had been given.
That Edith was a little weird, sizing up his arse and all that. Surely she should be in an old age pensioner's home and not looking to rape him.., this fine specimen of a lad.
The pictorial image before Mort bore down into his very core, his essence. Kwiksave was going to be his life, his foundation, his home; he would be a manager within days given his extraordinary talent.
Mort walked through the front door and gazed around with his lofty aura. Oh yes, this was marvellous and it would be his to manage.
“Are ye’s that fattee that Edith sent over to me’s?”
The voice sounded Scottish, barely indecipherable, and distorted to Mort's ears. Mort continued inward attempting to track the source and stared at his reflection puzzled.
“Fuck me, these cunts are gettin’ thicker by thee minute”, the same voice resounded, this time a little clearer.
Who was this foul-mouthed Scotsman and was his abuse aimed at me?
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Bulge emerged from behind the office sporting the traditional one-way windows fitted into every Kwiksave store at that time.
"Follow me ye chubby cunt, we's need to see if ye's up for being Stock Lad"
Without another word, Bulge waddled further into the store in that pose that only obese people can, arms and hands flapped out wide.
Chubby? that can’t be me, must be someone else, thought Mort following Bulge toward a large room with a huge sliding door.
“Close thee door laddie, let’s hav a looka yees”
Mort obliged, sliding the heavy door back and stared at what was behind Bulge. It was a warehouse crammed with pallets of all types, filled with messy boxes that were almost touching the roof.
Source
“Ye might well stare lad. If ye’s gets past my interview, ye’s will be stacking these boxes on the shelves. Ye’s think ye can handle that lad?”
Mort pulled himself together and looked Bulge in the eye.
“Of course sir, I intend to be the best Stock Lad you have ever hired”
Bulge beamed, his beady eyes looked Mort up and down and he licked his lips greedily.
"Laddie, I like you, but ye's need to turn around cuz I needs to inspect ye's arse"
“My what…, errr”
What was it with his arse? First, it was that nymphomaniac smoke-chaining pensioner, and now it was this overweight, gluttonous, blubbery Kwiksave manager. He had a fine arse, in fact world-class.
Bulge roughly grabbed Mort swivelling him around before giving him a hard slap on the rump.
“Ye want the job ye snivelling shit-bag, then ye’s better shut ye’s mouth”, Bulge roared with a fearsome visage before erupting into a huge guffaw.
Mort indignantly pulled himself together and forced a slight smile. This one was a strange creature.
“If ye’s hadn’t a’ grinned ye’d be out the front door”, Bulge continued flapping his arms around like an overweight pregnant dolphin.
"That was ye's test, and I tell ye's, not all these lads pass ye test"
"8 o'clock tomorrow laddie, and bring a carton of fresh cream. Ye needs to start ye's training"
Bulge turned around and shambled out of what Mort would soon learn to be 'the backshop', a place he would remember well over the next few years.
Mort, the Shit Manager is a Serial Shitposting Fiction Story inspired by Torundel the Shitposter by @katharsisdrill, Ren du Lot, the Shit Lawyer by @vcelier and Nordlute, the Shit Sysadmin by @steevc.
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