An attempt to produce a poem or story from now until the end of April (except Sundays).
The theme for the 2022 A to Z Challenge is the human condition.
My workload is shrinking: he’s only sending a fraction of his usual non-post-worthy inane nonsense. And it doesn’t require as much tarting up these days. I can’t believe the thick berk has developed enough savvy to produce good copy and manage his own media profile. This is a man who thinks TikTok is the noise a clock makes. So, why am I only in charge of FaceFarce and Twatter these days?
I remember the interview, where he assured me how busy, how full-time this job would be. He smiled and offered me £25 an hour. I laughed in his face. It worked, and he upped the offer to £35. At first, the job was easy, a piece of piss, as my father would say.
We had a few teething problems until I took away his admin rights. I had to save the planet from his assaults on the English language. A fact made all the more depressing because he is English. At least he speaks the language beautifully, his posh accent has opened doors and legs for him ever since he was spotted in the crowd at THAT football match.
And thanks to me, he is worth squillions: stick his image on a dog turd, and people will kill to buy it. But I bask anonymously in his reflected glory because I am contractually bound not to reveal the true nature of my job.
Sad state of affairs for a marketing graduate, but this gig pays more than being on the dole. And up until recently, I had high hopes he would commission me to ghostwrite his autobiography. But our once harmonious relationship is slowly disintegrating all because of Jaydee Meriwether.
Ever since she won the last series of Campus Creepshow, she has been unstoppable. If you have no idea what CC is, I applaud your good taste. It’s a cross between The Hunger Games and The Apprentice. And she won, not just for her ruthlessness and business savvy, but because of her willingness to flash her jugs to the camera. And I suspect my client has been seduced into abandoning me with a few private showings of her plastic bazookas.
I am not happy with this, I’ve spent weeks building up his profile. And if she poaches him now, I’m history. But believe me, that won’t happen without a fight. I also have a couple of WMDs in my arsenal. And I’m not afraid to use them.
Put it this way, I know where the bodies are buried and I have the photos to boot. Time to put the screws on my fake, floppy-haired employer and the fear of God up Jaydee’s Prada kilt. If they don’t come around to my way of thinking then I will destroy them both.