On Kangaroos

Going through a series of night shifts, Roach Nurse was drained and tired. At the end of the shift, she just want to go home to scrub her feelers clean.

Roach Doctor Douchebag: 'Hey nurse! Get me the casefile of patient XYZ.'

Roach Nurse: 'It should over there with the other doctor.'

Roach Doctor Douchebag: 'It's not. Right. Where is it?'

Roach Nurse (Pissed off): 'Should be around.'

Roach Doctor Douchebag: 'Well, it's not!' (Began to follow the nurse around like a douchebag.)

Roach Nurse (Exploded): 'Fine. Look at me. Look closely! Do I look like a fucking kangaroo to you? Do I have an extra skin attach to my belly that keep casefiles? Do I! Stop being spastic, you have a MBBS for crying out loud! My job says I have to keep my patients, all of them alive at the end of the shift, I have to carry out medical treatments and directives that doctors spit out and I have to deal with angry relatives, fine. But they never pay me to find your goddamn casefiles!'

Roach Doctor Douchebag: 'Oh. You will be surprised.'


Several days later, at HR dept.

Roach Nurse: 'What in Hell's name did you say?'

Roach HR Douchebag: 'Yeah. It's in the fine prints.'

Roach Nurse: 'You are telling me that my contract says I'm liable to find casefiles for the doctors?'

Roach HR Douchebag (Shrugged): 'Yeah. Not just files. You will have to get candy if the doctors are feeling whiny.'

Roach Nurse (Rubbing her forehead): 'Tell me again how long more am I bond for?'

Roach HR Douchebag: 'Three more years.'

Roach Nurse (Closing her eyes): 'Damn it!'

On Living Quarters

The Mouse had called the liquor cabinet in the cellar home. It was ancient, forgotten and sturdy. Recently, a nest of termites had burrowed the upstairs and making a ruckus every night. The Mouse decided to have a word with the leader.

'Welcome to the neighbourhood.' Greeted The Mouse passively, 'Your housewarming party have definitely become parties!'

'Oi! Oi! Yellor!' Laughed The Termite King. 'So much to do, so little time!'

'Well. I lived here too. Let's get along, kay? Keep it down.' The Mouse offered.

'I'm afraid it's impossible.' The Termite King said. 'Perhaps you should leave for good.'

'I was here first!' The Mouse squeaked.

'I'm not trying to be the thug here. There's too much on my hands, simply off the chart! There are eighty five newborn in the last hour and the guards have just been rostered into duties, bless their wings and souls, they are fussy steroid pumped up folks and plus The Queen is grouchy. She kicked me out of the chamber last night and has refused to speak to me since. I'm speaking of the end of days here! How am I supposed to get my nightly pookey pookey? And the darn kingdom listen to her more than me! This is not my call.' The Termite King fussed.

'I don't care. Find some place else!' The Mouse said.

'Given time we will.' The Termite King explained. 'You see it's basically a conflict of interest. I merely ask you to leave because you see this cabinet as your home, your shelter. We view it as a giant wedding cake. Eventually, it will be gone.'

'I swear by my whiskers this is not the end of it!' The Mouse warned.

'I'm sincerely apologetic.' The Termite King gave.

'Hey do you fags mind?' The Flea on The Mouse's back yelled, 'I'm trying to eat here!'