Hey kid. Looks like this is your first day at the old Chuckaroonie. Yeah, I prefer to not give my actual name -- already got too many people that know I work here. I don't care about your story, but the only reason you're talking to me is because I did fifteen in the can for manslaughter. God damn did I have it good before then. Assistant night manager at the Shoney's. Renting a big screen TV. Kill your neighbor with a riding mower and this is what happens. Just dump all of your dreams in the shitter. You're here now. Welcome to The 'Cheese.
We keep it real here. And let me tell you, you are going to have some shit jobs ahead of you, trainee. Machine wipedowns every 15? Let me know how long that single paper towel lasts before you're wiping feces off of the Centipede cabinet by the bathrooms with your own work shirt. It's cool, though. Most of the time you'll be so high on crack that you won't ever notice how filthy you are. That stuff flows like water here, and I heard that Mark won't fire you if you buy from him.
Word of warning: do not get on that guy's bad side. He accidentally killed his family with a gas leak in the '80s. Mark has a lot of demons. I came in a three o' clock in the morning because I left my crack here, and I saw Mark sitting naked in the ball pit, screaming and clawing at his face. Freaked me out so much that I almost forgot my crack. Didn't, though.
You want to steer clear of that robot band. We got a thick guy name Davis who keeps them lubed and puts out their near-constant fires. He lost two damn fingers last Wednesday -- when Jasper T. Jowls clamps down on your hand, that thing's not letting go until you cave its head in with a stage light. I'll let you know we spent nearly three days combing the gore from his fur. Made it out a lot quicker than Hector, though. Mr. Munch tore open his brachial artery and the dude bled out in minutes. We tried to get the engineers to design robots that don't have their components hidden behind razor sharp-teeth, but no one has been able to contact the factory since it burned down in 1979.
We get two ten-minute breaks and one free slice of pizza every day, but I advise you to steer clear of that second benefit. Tried it to save up money for a new lawn chair, but I got worms so bad it looked like a white hydra was peeking out of my butthole. Managed to drop about 70 pounds, though, and it was way easier to get high after losing all of that blood.
Gotta say, if there's one perk, it's the moms. You know the ones on probation or on a supervised visit with their kids? I've hooked up with four of them pretties just from showing off my scars. From two to three P.M., the break room is officially Pound Town. We tried the dumpster once but it was too visible from the street. Just watch out for that Diana -- four feet and two inches of trouble with cherry Kool-Aid highlights. Sure, easy on the eyes, but she'll raid that prize counter the moment you run off to get more crack -- lost 12 spider rings and the box for a portable TV last time she herded that soccer team of a family in here.
Don't think you got room to improve at the Chuckmonster. I've made the same minimum wage for the past six years, and I purposely wear the wrong gang colors on my walks to work because I'm too much of a coward to kill myself. Let me tell you what Mark said: we keep the sunlight out of here here because we can't bear to know that we'll have to suffer for another day. We are the damned, my friend. Now help me carry Hector's body to a new freezer -- customers are saying our bread sticks are "too corpsey."
it's hard to shake the feeling that I've always got five stars in this Grand Theft Auto known as life.
Now, inexplicably, season three is looming over us like some sort of dome. Season one's plot asked whether or not the town could get out from under the dome. Apparently the answer was "no". Season two asked "I guess we're really stuck, huh?" and the answer was "yup".
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