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The rest of the story.

ICE

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A while later, a memo showed up in my in-box. The bruiser was complaining that people were stealing his pens from his office. Thirty memos to reach me. I was so obvious about it too. I would sit right in front of him, tapping his desk with his pens and leave with them. Well that memo deserved a reaction so I stole his Sports Illustrated Swimsuit calendar. Several of my coworkers put it up all over the workshop. I told him many times that a healthy reward Shirley would flush out the culprit. Oh he wasn't called the bruiser because he was large. He bruised easy.

The man that owned the company hired a SF 49ers linebaker during the off season. He was freakish in size. Almost smart enough to work with the laborers. So Fatman and Robin [that's what the men called us} are walking down a deserted street when six feet of 2x6 comes flying over the top of a condo and lands in the street. Hercules was entertaining the laborers. He lasted a couple weeks and then he was off to Miami to perform in porno films.

One of the artistically inclined men fashioned a stencil of a fat bat to go along with Fatman and Robin. It was about half as big as the tailgate of a little truck. I had no idea that those knuckleheads would do such a thing until I looked out a second story window and saw them in the act. I steered the inspector down the site and made sure that we approached his truck from the front. He drove away with a green, hugely fat, bat on his orange rear. I tried to be angry about it but some things were beyond my control.

That gig lasted two and a half years, produced more than a few stories and I was a young man loving life.
 
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