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Working with troglodytes

#1
I got transferred to another dept on monday, I'm currently working with agency staff (I am employed as a temp by the company) the charge hand for the agency peeps (herein after referred to as mongs) is a right trogolodyte, most of them come from gt. yarmouth , and it shows, when I saw her with her hand down her baggy track suit trousers scratching her crotch it did not fill me with great desire, that and she only has about 4 teeth in her head. The feeling seems to be mutual though, much more of this and I'll tell the troll exactly where to get off, she might reign supreme over the other agency mongs but I work direct for the company as such she has no command over me, thank fuck.
I post this as a rant to get it off my chest but also to ask, has anyone else worked for a troll like that who had no real command over you so you could , in a sort of polite way, say fuck off trog?
 
#6
Trogs, you say? I can’t say too much about it, but I’d long since retired from the RCT and was happy and content living on my ranch in Liverpool. One day whilst chopping firewood with my shirt off my old CO, Lt Col K*v H*ghes, ‘copptered in and told me that the Russians had developed a new and top secret 4 Tonner and I was the only Trog, ever, who could possibly get it out of the country for our boffins to look at. I refused at first. My war was over and my bladder was slack, but the President of Britain had asked for me personally and so I reluctantly agreed and booked a flight on EasyJet.

The next few days were a blur of intrigue and tension, but mostly vodka. On one occasion I was having a slash when I had a dreadful flashback to Nam. It was West Nam, back in ‘79, and despite doing well in the League someone had left a turd in their the urinals too.

To cut a long story short, after being smuggled into the top secret facility I tossed away a fag butt and accidently set the servicing bay on fire. My training and instincts quickly kicked in and told me I was in for a right bollocking and so I nabbed the Ruskie 4 tonner and raced out of the camp to shouts of “halt!”, “niet!”, “Duran Duran!” and “Manchester United!”.

It all ended well and we won the Cold War.
 
#7
Trogs, you say? I can’t say too much about it, but I’d long since retired from the RCT and was happy and content living on my ranch in Liverpool. One day whilst chopping firewood with my shirt off my old CO, Lt Col K*v H*ghes, ‘copptered in and told me that the Russians had developed a new and top secret 4 Tonner and I was the only Trog, ever, who could possibly get it out of the country for our boffins to look at. I refused at first. My war was over and my bladder was slack, but the President of Britain had asked for me personally and so I reluctantly agreed and booked a flight on EasyJet.

The next few days were a blur of intrigue and tension, but mostly vodka. On one occasion I was having a slash when I had a dreadful flashback to Nam. It was West Nam, back in ‘79, and despite doing well in the League someone had left a turd in their the urinals too.

To cut a long story short, after being smuggled into the top secret facility I tossed away a fag butt and accidently set the servicing bay on fire. My training and instincts quickly kicked in and told me I was in for a right bollocking and so I nabbed the Ruskie 4 tonner and raced out of the camp to shouts of “halt!”, “niet!”, “Duran Duran!” and “Manchester United!”.

It all ended well and we won the Cold War.

I heard you'd hidden it and were holding a top secret government agency (DVLA?) to ransome refusing to hand over the truck until they find your brother who went missing in action overseas (Disney land).
Of course you use it to do top secret missions occasionally between stunt jobs.
ScouseD.jpg
 
#8
That was the story given out at the time as a cunning deception. All I know that is order to get the thing started I had to think in Russian. “Mr Chekov!”, I thought very loudly, and shot out of the servicing bay. Great days.
 

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