Bring Me the Skull of the HR Director

You may, or may not, know that I recently got shitcanned from a job that I thought was perfect for me. I’ll save you the War and Peace version : Motherfucker who recruited me for the job realized his ass was in trouble. Then he threw me under Iron Maiden’s tour bus. I got pounded like a buffet serving Whoopi Goldberg, Rosie O’Donnell and Jonah Hill.

End of story. Shit happens.

(I can’t qualify for unemployment because before I was a sole proprietor and didn’t pay in to unemployment insurance. So hey, I got fucked and then fucked again. Fuck it. My success will be my ultimate triumph.)

Enough about Fuckup Fozz, let’s discuss how unemployment is a sucking black hole. First, you have to deal with a fuckhole HR person. Then it’s a telephone screening and talking with a dolt who could be your boss – or not.

Jesus god, shut me in a closet with Vice President Pence. The pain will be manageable, and I could choke him to death with my bare hands.

My experience with HR people has not been very positive. My best ever interview with an HR person went like this:

Asshole HR Person: “Do you have any of your samples?”
Fozz: “No. I was told this was an informational interview.”
Asshole HR Person: “Well, what do you think we should do now?”
Fozz: “Let’s end it, because you’re pissing me off.”

I did not get a call back for a second interview. Yet, I felt outstanding. How good? Like Joe Flacco realizing there was another gallon of water flavored ice milk in the back of his freezer. Right behind the tub of vanilla yogurt and egg whites.
I don’t know why HR people are such dinguses. They are. I think because they are able to lord over other people, and know all about their secrets. They’re all smug. You know who HR people are? They’re the school librarians of business. Stay with me.

They are tight assed. They can silence you with a single look. They are usually dried up bitches. Many of them wear glasses. They can levy fines against you. Get it?

Secondary interviews are also bullshit because now you meet whoever works for the person who will hire you. So you’re trying to be nice and popular and intelligent, like trying to get past the chick in the bar who’s cock blocking you so you can lay it down with the hot chick. This hot chick will make your life miserable by shooting you down, or make your life miserable by becoming your girlfriend.

If you don’t go the route of doing it yourself, you could enlist a recruiter – great people. Imagine the heart of a pimp, the soul of a Trump supporter, and the mental capabilities of a third grader who rides the short bus.
They are evil lying scum. I once had a recruiter call me two years after we first talked. Trying to place me in a sales job that I didn’t want or need. He chased me like Tommy Lee going after a hypo of China White. Relentless. I finally told him to fuck off and die. I think he took it as a compliment.

I’m sure I’ll find a new gig that I can fuck up. I better find it soon or Mrs. Fozz is giving me the heave ho. Let’s say that we’re at Bourble Level One every night around the old compound.

Maybe I’ll start looking for HR jobs, change the rotten system from within.

Good Thing that Happened This Week
Ye gods, the pickings are slim. On Ash Wednesday my mother made clams and spaghetti that could be served in heaven, or whatever the fuck passes for the after life. I’m not a god fearing man, but the afterlife better be filled with tits and bourbon. Or I’m going to have a long talk with someone. To all the food dorks on this site, the secret to the clams and spaghetti is anchovy paste. Tell anyone about this and you die a rotten death.