What A Career

 

What A Career

The call centre agent once had a past job decades ago. This job was as a hitman doing hit on targets that deserved to die. He got the orders from an Army General. He was told what the target had done. This included a rapist who had raped a girl. It was good the hitman knew what the targets had done to give him more focus. Not too much anger to cloud his mind but enough. He used 45 pistols for the job. They never jammed and had great stopping power. Nobody survived or got up again after being hit by them. He done several hits himself and been involved in over a dozen others with his gang. They weren't like the frat members who proudly wore their t shirts. Those were all pussies. His was a prison recruited gang of smart hardened criminals. Often they got arrested on purpose to go meet a high profile prisoner for intel. Spending time in 'Colombia' as the jails were known. Yes the other crimes included drug production and smuggling. Both here in the islands and importing it from the usual places plus Red China. The communist turtle bastards were anti-drug but made billions from an illicit trade. Before the general one of the Red Chinky Chong turtles had been his boss. He'd simply ordered hits when he didn't like somebody. Make them disappear. A similar story to the rival turtle Chink on a different island. The ex-president knew that one and look at the trouble that had made. Both as mayor and then president. Drugs brought in big money but were dirty in their result. Money laundering was better. From producing high quality fake bills to investing legal money from gambling in new building projects. Next to gold real estate was the best financial investment. Of all his crimes the hitman enjoyed the hits. They were personal and solved real world problems. Yes there were risks but he was a smart methodical man. Right now he was a call centre agent. What a career he'd had.

 

 

 

new poems

 

Drinks

Suspicious death if work colleague

No police report

Driver of motorbike dropped off at home by ambulance

His social media all deactivated

Back rider dead had 2 black eyes

No medical autopsy

Doctor said died of damaged lungs

Al drank a lot

Was in trainer

Future wife Jessy has qstns

Anon email tulfo manila bulletin rappler

Have suspicious death story here

 

 

 

War Far

The war came and left as fast as it arrived

The place was different afterwards

With ruined houses and dead bodies

Lost lives and materiel damage

Such was war and innocent targets

How can a precision missile miss?

 

 

with a loud church minister

see him pivot in his pulpit like jesus was there

listen to his inspiring sermon fire brimstone orders

notice his eyes how they dee and do not see you all

 

 

 

aboard a busy bus

how the harassed conductor takes fares overcharging

jam packed like fucking sardines sweaty smelly serious

shriek the driver swerves the vehicle cursing cars

 

 

Eight Rice Cups

 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CTVJNFNC

“How many cups of rice did you have Fred?” the body builder asked Fred.

 

“I ate one cup of rice mate,” Fred replied.

 

“Do you know how many I ate?”

 

“No I don’t, how many?”

 

“I had eight cups of rice!”

 

“That’s way too many mate!” Fred was shocked. Their lunch dinner break was only an hour. That included going from the call centre to the eating place, ordering food, eating it then going back. “Why did you have so many?”

 

“It’s free and all you can eat plus I’m bulking myself up for body building. I need the mass to turn into muscle.”

 

“I see. Yes I know you need the mass for muscle. It’s all carbs. My old workmate used to do that.”

 

“Yes. Free food helps so I’m not paying for each rice cup. I work out after shift every day. Do different muscle sets.”

 

“Good luck with it. I did weights a while ago but never ate a lot. Plus I did a manual job in a bakery. I’m full with what I’ve just eaten too.”

 

“Come on you two we need to go back now. We need to be back in the training room in five minutes,” one of the gals said. The body builder hurriedly finished his mean and Fred drank some more water. They were all learning Comcast tech support systems. It was intense with a power tripping trainer who only spoke in vernacular.

 

 

 

 

 

Junk Centre?

 

Junk Centre

In the office they used old outdated equipment. The headphones were mismatched. The computers had wide screen monitors. The keyboards had missing keys. The software tools were obsolete. The internet connection was dial up. The supervisor was deathly pale. The manager wore old thread bare clothes. The accounts were grandfathered. The building lease was past dated. The salary was a decade old pay rate. The reps were straight out of college. What did they know of call centres? Did they think this old junk was modern? There was nothing new or advanced about this place. It simply was junk. Which part would collapse first?