As an example, I could describe my job as: Creative bit flipper.
Come up with a colorful term for your job, past or present.
As an example, I could describe my job as: Creative bit flipper.
Cart jockey.
Office monkey.
Basement lurker.
past boss - finch-feltching fuckfaced fart. we didn't get along at all.
Traveling Water Thief
Rad Sponge
Portable Shielding
Cheaper and Easier to Replace Than a Robot
Blue Shirt Scum
What was the last one?Originally posted by Orual
I get the last four but I don't get the first.
I was traveling sales and service tech for a boiler water chemical company. I would on my service visits take a sample of the water that we were treating, and then analyze it later.
And I never, ever brought the water back.
I like Car Guy
"I won't kill for money, and I won't marry for it. Other than that, I'm open to just about anything."
-Jim Rockford
Human Grease Trap
Comestibles Conduit
Typewritinge Machine Slavey
Word Princess, Graphics Peasant
Glitter Receptacle
We are human after all...
AKA meenie7
Jim, I was an archival assistant for a time. My job involved various tasks, all of which required lurking in the basement stacks.
Pig lifter.
Elevation technologist (Suidae).
Swine-specific altitude adjuster.
Hog ascent facilitator.
Bacon levitator.
Oops sorry. Thought it said 'boss'. Sorry.
Hole in the wall patchier.
Welcome to Mellophant.
We started with nothing and we still have most of it left.
Milk-related product rotation specialist.
Taumpy: Oh noes, you aren't a super powerful wave of destruction.
Panther Squad: It's true! My scythe does not shorn the biomonsters in great swaths like it ought!
Boss babysitter
Literacy Advocate, Register Monkey. And, I tell people that my dad "works PR for Jesus."
Miniature Person Wangler
Testicular Disposal Technician
Multiconversational Diplomat
They weren't singing....they were just honking.
Glee 2009
Abstract abstractor.
Hell, if I didn't do things just because they made me feel a bit ridiculous, I wouldn't have much of a social life. - Santo Rugger.
Goddess of Locks
Professional Bum.
Unintentional exhaust fan cover hang glider.
Asshole.
Lackey.
Today, I am once again called to serve as Mouse Penis Abuse Famulus.
Huzzah!
Downhill
For several years I was a Wall Color Change Facilitator.
Then for a time I was a Toxic Waste Abatement Technician.
Nowadays my job is Protector Of Other People From Themselves.
Hell is other people.
I'd be an antibody wrangler. Or, more broadly, biomolecule trainer/herder.
Wrinkle relaxer?
(I currently work in a nursing home.)
An olivesmarch4th has-been.
A lifesaver, for the families that couldn't care for the people there.
I was a pump jockey at a gas station.
"I won't kill for money, and I won't marry for it. Other than that, I'm open to just about anything."
-Jim Rockford
Today it finally happened. The day started much like any other. As designated Mouse Penis Abuse Famulus, it was of course my task to prepare the apparatus and assist with monitoring and documentation.
Just then the word came down: the Senior Mouse Penis Abuser was delayed due to a scheduling conflict! Yet for this particular type of penis abuse, timing was critical. There was only a narrow window of opportunity during which these mouse penises could be successfully abused. Suddenly every second counted! Yet no other mouse penis abuser was available for the procedure. "Terrifel," the supervisor said approximately, "we need you to abuse those mouse penises."
I felt the awesome weight of the sudden burden upon me. This was just like Airport '75, except with mouse penises instead of a passenger-laden Boeing 747. Nonetheless, I seemed to sense George Kennedy's spirit hovering close.
"I'm not dead yet you know," he said irritably.
"Well can you at least give me a hand with these mouse penises?" I asked.
"Jesus, what the hell are you doing to those little guys? No way! Freak," he added, and faded away.
The first mouse penis loomed up at me like a mountain. This was no training session, I realized grimly. With these mouse penises, there would be no second chance.
Call it what you will: "beginners' luck" or the hand of fate. The fact remains that every single mouse penis was abused with uncanny, textbook-like precision. Those mice literally never knew what hit them. Soon they were frisking about and urinating on me just like any other mice. The penis abuse was a resounding success! I breathed a silent prayer to Aesclepius, god of mouse penis abuse.
It was not a situation I would wish to be placed in again, but at least I know I can do it now. On Monday morning, I will be back to pig lifting again. But from now on, I can proudly list among my occupational skills: "mouse penis abuser."
Quick somebody call Mike Rowe.
Welcome to Mellophant.
We started with nothing and we still have most of it left.
How's that pay? I think I might have some natural talent in that area.
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