M.Y.T.H. Inc. Link By Robert Asprin

Anyway, I continues to keep my eyes and ears open until I feel I have gathered sufficient injustices to make my point, then I wait for the right moment to present my findin’s. This proves to be no great test of my patience, since, as I have noted, the worker types love to gripe about their jobs and tonight proves to be no exception to this rule.

“What do you think, Guido?” Roxie sez, tumin’ to me. “Do the guys workin’ the Dribble Toilets have it worse than the ones workin’ the Battery-Operated Whoopie Cushions?”

I make a big show of thinkin’ hard before I give my answer.

“I think,” I sez carefully, “that if brains was dynamite, the whole plant wouldn’t have the powder to blow its nose.”

It takes him a minute to get my drift, but when he does, his eyes go real mean.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean I’ve been sittin’ here listenin’ to you guys bellyache for nearly two weeks now, and ain’t none of youse heard a thing that’s goin’ on.”

“All right, Mr. Doggie Doodle, if you’re so smart why don’t you tell all of us who have been workin’ here for years what it is you’ve learned in a whole two weeks.”

I choose to ignore the Doggie Doodle crack, as there are now several tables of worker types listenin’ to our conversation and I’m afraid I’ll lose their attention if I take the time to bust Roxie’s head.

“Youse guys spend all your time arguin’ about who’s gettin’ honked the worst, and in the meantime you’re missin’ the point. The point is that you’re all gettin’ the Purple Shaft.”

With that I commences to itemize a dozen or so of the more reprehensible examples of the exploitation of worker types I have noted in my investigation. By the time I am done, the whole bar is listenin’, and there is an ugly murmur goin’ around.