I like corporate monkeys.
The R&R pet store was selling them for five cents per pay period. I thought that
odd since they were normally a couple thousand. I decided not to look a
gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like corporate monkeys.
I took my 200 corporate monkeys to my plasma center for an audit party.
I have a big car. I let one drive. Her name was Carlson. She was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing. I herded them into the conference room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech CAPA, hurl themselves off of the cheap plastic chairs at high speeds and slam into the wall.
Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the corporate monkeys were so inexpensive:
They all died from taking Octagam - had embolic events – just sorta' dropped dead.
Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later.
Damn cheap corporate monkeys.
I didn't know what to do. I tried to bring them back with Wilate. That was a failure.
There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my center, on the donor beds, in the softgoods room, hanging from my donor record files.
It looked like a really good corporate holiday party.
I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet corporate monkey and 199 dead, dry corporate monkeys.
I tried pretending they were just donors. Filled the beds, stuck-em and dropped my cost per liter. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose.
It started to smell real bad – like a transient donor.
I had to pee but there was a dead corporate monkey in the toilet and I didn't want
to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately,
there was only enough room for two dozen corporate monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 minutes. I also had to document time out of freezer.
I tried burning them. Little did I know my donor beds were flammable; I had to
extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dozen dead, frozen monkeys
in my freezer, and 175 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my donor floor.
The odor wasn't improving. It was starting to smell like Charlotte corporate office.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my corporate monkeys, and to use
the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them away in biowaste but the stericycle man said that he was
not allowed to dispose of charred primates.
I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either.
I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution:
Everyone knows that once you are bitten by a donor, you become a donor.
So I figured a really nasty donor could bring them back to life. –Nasty like Greenville, or maybe Petersburg nasty. An uber donor from the days of Seramed, Alpha and Aventis - with a natural port for a 16 gauge needle to go.
I paid this nasty donor a buddy bonus for every corporate monkey it bit.
It was a really nasty donor.
(But it got CJD from biting Carlson, the retarded monkey and later died.)
I gave my undead corporate monkeys as gifts to other plasma companies.
I gave most of them to Octapharma and some to Talecris.
They didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they liked them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So, I punched them in the genitals.
I like corporate monkeys.
-Remember, last one out, turn off the lights.
The R&R pet store was selling them for five cents per pay period. I thought that
odd since they were normally a couple thousand. I decided not to look a
gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like corporate monkeys.
I took my 200 corporate monkeys to my plasma center for an audit party.
I have a big car. I let one drive. Her name was Carlson. She was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing. I herded them into the conference room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech CAPA, hurl themselves off of the cheap plastic chairs at high speeds and slam into the wall.
Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.
Two hours later I found out why all the corporate monkeys were so inexpensive:
They all died from taking Octagam - had embolic events – just sorta' dropped dead.
Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later.
Damn cheap corporate monkeys.
I didn't know what to do. I tried to bring them back with Wilate. That was a failure.
There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my center, on the donor beds, in the softgoods room, hanging from my donor record files.
It looked like a really good corporate holiday party.
I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck.
Then I had one dead, wet corporate monkey and 199 dead, dry corporate monkeys.
I tried pretending they were just donors. Filled the beds, stuck-em and dropped my cost per liter. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose.
It started to smell real bad – like a transient donor.
I had to pee but there was a dead corporate monkey in the toilet and I didn't want
to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.
I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately,
there was only enough room for two dozen corporate monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 minutes. I also had to document time out of freezer.
I tried burning them. Little did I know my donor beds were flammable; I had to
extinguish the fire.
Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dozen dead, frozen monkeys
in my freezer, and 175 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my donor floor.
The odor wasn't improving. It was starting to smell like Charlotte corporate office.
I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my corporate monkeys, and to use
the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.
I tried throwing them away in biowaste but the stericycle man said that he was
not allowed to dispose of charred primates.
I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either.
I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.
I finally arrived at a solution:
Everyone knows that once you are bitten by a donor, you become a donor.
So I figured a really nasty donor could bring them back to life. –Nasty like Greenville, or maybe Petersburg nasty. An uber donor from the days of Seramed, Alpha and Aventis - with a natural port for a 16 gauge needle to go.
I paid this nasty donor a buddy bonus for every corporate monkey it bit.
It was a really nasty donor.
(But it got CJD from biting Carlson, the retarded monkey and later died.)
I gave my undead corporate monkeys as gifts to other plasma companies.
I gave most of them to Octapharma and some to Talecris.
They didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they liked them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So, I punched them in the genitals.
I like corporate monkeys.
-Remember, last one out, turn off the lights.