Goys are us (excerpt)

Fuck is a wonderful little four letter word. It has so many uses. It can be used as an exclamation point when expressing anger, joy, disbelief, astonishment oh--- and of course pleasure.

I have often wondered as to its origin. Who was the first person to say fuck? How did this person come up with it? How was it decided that this word was not appropriate when all others hearing it for the first time didn’t even know what the word meant?

Some say that Fuck was an acronym for, Found Under Carnal Knowledge, or what I believe is the true origin, Fornicate Under Consent of the King. Whatever might be its true inception, one thing is infallible, it is Bubba Burlock’s favorite word and he uses it for everything, in every conceivable form, for every occasion. "What the fuck are you fucks, fuckin’ doing to that fuckin’ fuck?"

Bubba is obnoxious at best and definitely wears the asshole pants in his family. If you were on his good side he was your best buddy, but he could also be one nasty prick if he decided to.

Many employees had left Ultimate Produce and some had come back. Bubba was on his third tour of duty through the war-torn ravages of this produce dictatorship. We consider, out of all of us, Bubba is most likely to go postal since he was long ago, by his own assessment, wounded by friendly fire.

If you have something you want to eat, don’t leave it laying around. Bubba eats everything, chips, cookies, personal lunches, nothing is safe around this junk-food junkie and his vacuous black-hole-of-a-mouth. I find it hard to comprehend that he so callously shoves anything and everything into this orifice—you see---Bubba has Crohns disease. We know this, because I, and everyone else hear about it daily. He spends a considerable amount of time holed up in the washroom, he can fart on command, and they are usually hideous and follow him around like a homeless guy looking for spare change.

It was hard to decide what everyone liked least, being the next one into the privy after Bubba, or listening to his play-by-play, after-the-fact descriptions of texture, consistency and blood loss. To him, it was like a treasure hunt. "Guess what I found in my shit today?" Ugh . . . I shudder as much as you must be and you only have to read about it.

Needless to say he isn’t very popular with the ladies. It’s not that he’s an ugly dude. It’s just that inside of five minutes after meeting a girl the conversation turns to how sick he is and the result of that affliction.
"Yeah I have this problem. Have you ever heard of Crohns disease? – No . . . well , It’s a form of inflammatory bowel disease with presumed, but as yet unidentified, genetic influences. – Are you enjoying your meal?– Did you know that Crohns disease affects 34,000 people each year and this number appears to be on the increase? – No, it’s not contagious but it sure is
uncomfortable. You should see my fecal matter. – They serve a delicious chocolate fudge and raspberry torte here. Can I order you one?– You know, you can tell what I’ve been eating because it doesn’t look much different coming out as it did going in.– Would you like to go out again?"

After conversations of this nature you can see why women aren’t interested in Bubba’s sexual prowess. In fact he was convinced that the only way he was going to get a hot chick was to tie her to a chair in a home invasion.

With all the things on his hate list, I know he loathes our boss Jacob most of all, although, the run-ins have never led to "fuck-you’s" and a knife fight.

I always think of Jacob and Bubba as two brooding weather systems that if they ever met would cause furious tornadoes and leave a path of devastation in their wake. It was already tough enough to work under the other elements, - customers and kooks alike, - then have to also deal with the infectious negative moods these two could sometimes inflict.

I can identify with each of my co-workers in some way. Bubba is my alter ego, my dark side, possessing all the death and darkness, venom and vitriol that I sometimes felt working at Ultimate Produce but—with one difference. I never acted on it, with Bubba you couldn’t be sure.