Monkey Waiters

So I always feel like waiting tables is something I can fall back on. Not just because it pays so amazingly well and I am so wonderful at it, but also because it is so completely fucking fulfilling. But then I get word that there is this restaurant in Japan or Chinatown or some fucking place that has monkeys as waiters. As if the cafeteria and the buffet were not enough to do away with my profession of choice, now someone is hiring freaking monkeys to do my job? Okay, well this isn’t really my profession of choice. It’s more like it was handed to me on a silver platter but the platter was too hot to handle and no one told me it was that hot and I burned off my fingerprints and then after I dropped it, the silver platter broke into a thousand pieces and then they asked me to clean it up and they told me the cost of the platter would be coming out of my next paycheck. Anyhoo, I digress. These monkeys in Japan are getting paid with soybeans, peanuts and pats on the head. I get paid with nickels, dimes and the occasional pat on the ass (okay that never happens). What is this restaurant world coming to? A monkey can never replace me. Can a monkey draw little smiley faces on the check? Can he forget to ring in your food and then tell you that the kitchen printer fucked up and they never got the order? Can a monkey tell you “you can make your own fucking cocktail sauce, asshole.”? I don’t think so. These are things that make me and every other human waiter so special. The only monkey I want to see in a restaurant is a little pink plastic one that is hanging off my Mai Tai or one that is flying out of my ass when a monkey puts on my stained dirty apron and takes an order from Cunty McCuntcunt at Table 206. Check out the video of the bastards who want my job.

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