Ed
A Job Well Done

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Uncle Bob: C | Grade It Now!
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A Job Well Done

Carol and Ed are having lunch when Carol asks whether he's dropped Ron's case yet. Ed says no, and that it's been the worst week ever. Carol tries to top him by telling him that she's so dull, kids have developed a game to capitalize on their utter boredom. She then mentions going to Jackass, and Ed pretends to fall asleep when she brings up Jackass's name. That's Ed's favorite joke -- to pretend he's not interested in the men Carol has the hots for when secretly, in the privacy of his own home, he's plotting their violent and bloody deaths on a daily basis. Carol explains all the stuff that Jackass wants her to do, like actually read the books she's supposed to read and grade tests fairly and stop wearing bras and wear short skirts to school and walk down the hallways on her hands. Ed fancies himself a modern-day Gatsby and throws out a pretty straight-on British accent as he talks smack. Carol calls him a dork, and he corrects her by calling himself a "Gatsbyesque" dork. Personally, I think plain "dork" was sufficient, but whatever floats Ed's boat, y'know? It's like wrapping a ribbon around a dog turd. It may look pretty, but it's still dog shit.

In court, the prosecutor is quizzing Heather Ross. They ask her to describe a typical day at Suitopia. She says that when she came in each morning, Ron would look her over to make sure she was showing enough leg. Then he'd say it's "showtime!" and make the girls get out on the floor and act like bimbos to move the suits. He'd even suggest flirty things they should say, like, "Hey, Cowboy, when did you ride into town?" "Yo Studsicle...Let me lick you up and down," and "I make a mean sandwich after hot sex." They were told to let their hands linger across the customer's body while they fitted him for a jacket. At this point, I'll admit, I was sporting wood just listening to the woman describe her typical day. I feel quite sure that I'd accidentally soil my share of suits if my ass ever popped into Suitopia. After a while, Heather quit playing by Ron's rules and started acting respectable and professional. Her sales plummeted because men in Stuckeyville obviously like handjobs from whores along with their clothing purchases. But the important thing is that even though Heather was fired for not feeling guys up as part of her suggestive selling techniques, she still respects herself. The prosecution feels this is a great place to end, and announces that he's reached the end of his list of questions. Ed pops up, waltzes over to her, and asks whether it's true that she used to work at Flinty McDuff's as a waitress. OMG!! BUSTED! Apparently, at Flinty's, waitresses have to dress in skimpy outfits and flirt with customers. All together now....EWWWWWWWW!!! Whoever heard of that?!? So basically, Heather had to use her sexuality to sell chicken wings at Flinty's, but it wasn't okay to whore herself out to sell suits. Ed says that Heather should have just quit at Suitopia rather than sue Ron. I think now's as good a time as any to admit that we here at MBTV...well, we're all victims of Wing Chun's and Sars's sexual advances as well. I cannot begin to count the number of emails I've received from these ladies in which they tell me that if I don't start sending naked pictures of my legendary assbutt, they're going to see to it that I never work in this internet bidnitt again. At first, I rebuked their demands. These days, between the two of them, they have enough shots of my legendary and semi-muscular assbutt to fill an art museum. ["It wouldn't be a big museum -- like, the size of a respectable bungalow -- but a museum nonetheless." -- Wing Chun] This is nothing I'm proud of -- in fact, I hang my head in shame every time I see either of their names in my inbox, knowing that the email will be yet another drunken demand for yet another shot of my taut and dimpled pale butt cheeks. I hear I'm not the only one. Omar G's ass has been photographed so many times it has its own agent now. So dear readers, please understand...the life of an MBTV recapper is not all champagne wishes and caviar dreams. Sometimes, it's a disturbing visit to a dark realm of pale ass photography. ["You love it, Bob. Now, get out the camera: I got a blank spot on the wall in my den." -- Wing Chun]

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