What kind of executioner you'd be? (HR Test)
03 May '15 23:412 editsThe Where-Is-My-Head Type WIMH™
From the moment you search for 15 minutes at home for the car keys to the moment in which your assistant asks for the third time "have you sharpened the guillotine's blade?", one word and one word only keeps bounding in your head: "did I turn off the gas stove?" Hilarious misunderstandings, forgetfulness, and disorganization plague your work as a bringer of just death, but sometimes you just wish you'd be able to be as sharp as a knife, get in, do your job with cutting precision, and get out. Last time the head didn't roll because the blade couldn't cut the vertebrae and your peers stared at you in disbelief. Now you don't want that every single day at the office, do you?
The Fetus-Head-Spotter Type FHS™
You love your job and you carry it out with surgical precision. Yeah, those pets you tortured during childhood made too much noise and took too long to bleed to death, but now, with the help of the M-16 semiautomatic with laser pinpoint, you even ask in those rare days (when you win the lottery and there's a pregnant woman to be executed) about the estimated whereabouts of the creature she's carrying inside. Hey, there's no law banning 2 gunshots, right? You were born to do this.
The Gloomy-Sparky-Grumpy Type GSG™
There was a time, long ago, when you got all moist by excitement when switching the electricity on. The sparks and fumes emanating from the shaking body strapped to the chair reflected on your dark, wide Ray Bans like Chinese New Year fireworks over the placid waters of the Hudson River. But no more. Now, even the botched executions where eyes pop out of their sockets and the faces start to melt produce in you a flat, gloomy "meh" and every time you go back home you ask yourself: "when did I lose my groove?"
The Entrepreneurial-Gunho-Dreamer EGD™
Yeah, when at executioner school you graduated to the gas chamber, you gleefully could see the envy in the eyes of your peers --particularly those with Aryan Brotherhood tattoos. Everyday, you go to the office with the strength of 10,000 bulls and a burning desire to do your job flawlessly and as many times as needed. Hell! If you could stuff more people into that chamber, you'd do it! But it is not to be, and you're growing more and more frustrated everyday because you cannot execute as many as you'd like to, sending you into a deep blues.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Excerpt taken from Seitse's latest book:
Put the Love in Sociopath!
A Journey Through Happiness At The Workplace
American Samoa University Press. Seitse 2015 © All Rights Reserved
"Thumbs up!" Amarillo Daily News
"Who is this freak? I want to kiss him!" South Padre Island Times
"Where is my pickle?" Riker's Island Newsletter
From the moment you search for 15 minutes at home for the car keys to the moment in which your assistant asks for the third time "have you sharpened the guillotine's blade?", one word and one word only keeps bounding in your head: "did I turn off the gas stove?" Hilarious misunderstandings, forgetfulness, and disorganization plague your work as a bringer of just death, but sometimes you just wish you'd be able to be as sharp as a knife, get in, do your job with cutting precision, and get out. Last time the head didn't roll because the blade couldn't cut the vertebrae and your peers stared at you in disbelief. Now you don't want that every single day at the office, do you?
The Fetus-Head-Spotter Type FHS™
You love your job and you carry it out with surgical precision. Yeah, those pets you tortured during childhood made too much noise and took too long to bleed to death, but now, with the help of the M-16 semiautomatic with laser pinpoint, you even ask in those rare days (when you win the lottery and there's a pregnant woman to be executed) about the estimated whereabouts of the creature she's carrying inside. Hey, there's no law banning 2 gunshots, right? You were born to do this.
The Gloomy-Sparky-Grumpy Type GSG™
There was a time, long ago, when you got all moist by excitement when switching the electricity on. The sparks and fumes emanating from the shaking body strapped to the chair reflected on your dark, wide Ray Bans like Chinese New Year fireworks over the placid waters of the Hudson River. But no more. Now, even the botched executions where eyes pop out of their sockets and the faces start to melt produce in you a flat, gloomy "meh" and every time you go back home you ask yourself: "when did I lose my groove?"
The Entrepreneurial-Gunho-Dreamer EGD™
Yeah, when at executioner school you graduated to the gas chamber, you gleefully could see the envy in the eyes of your peers --particularly those with Aryan Brotherhood tattoos. Everyday, you go to the office with the strength of 10,000 bulls and a burning desire to do your job flawlessly and as many times as needed. Hell! If you could stuff more people into that chamber, you'd do it! But it is not to be, and you're growing more and more frustrated everyday because you cannot execute as many as you'd like to, sending you into a deep blues.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Excerpt taken from Seitse's latest book:
Put the Love in Sociopath!
A Journey Through Happiness At The Workplace
American Samoa University Press. Seitse 2015 © All Rights Reserved
"Thumbs up!" Amarillo Daily News
"Who is this freak? I want to kiss him!" South Padre Island Times
"Where is my pickle?" Riker's Island Newsletter
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