I'm sorry, I'm a squirter Dale. Horrible Bosses
You want one? It's 8:15 am. It's 18-year-old Scotch. If you want a promotion, you gotta earn it. Did I tell you that Harken tricked me into having a drink at 8 o'clock this morning? I thought that he was giving you a promotion. Yeah no, he is. I have decided who I want to be our new vice-president of sales. Me. What did he say? Nick, please, we're in the middle of a meeting. Sorry. That's okay, I'll just attribute this to your drinking problem.
Unless your boss isn't sexually harassing you. Let's see if this thing is working. Oooh! I'm sorry, I'm a squirter Dale. You know, yours doesn't sound that bad. We need to trim some of the fat. What do you mean by trim the fat? I want you to fire the fat people. They're lazy and they're slow and they make me sad to look at. You can start with Large Marge. Marge, can you come in here, please? What?
You would have to admit. Our lives would be easier if our bosses weren't alive. You can fire professor Xavier. You mean Hank? He creeps me out. Roping around all day in his special little secret chair. I don't care how bad our bosses are, we're not murderers. O, Dale, you know that I like to fool around. This is bad. Bad! Bad! Bad! You know what. That's crossing the line!
