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Mort, the Shit Manager is a spin-off fictional series of short stories based loosely on the thoughts of David Mortenson, the tyrannical Kwiksave store manager who features in my auto-biographical series 'The Horrors of Kwiksave'.
Mort the Shit Manager Complete Chronology
- Mort as a Stock Lad -
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Flat Arse' - (March 1974)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Mort's Interview' - (March 1974)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Armchair Club' - (May 1974)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Fresh Cream' - (November 1978)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Demise of Reginald Bulge' - (January 1979)
- Mort as a Manager -
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Oxidation' - (July 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Fart Councilling' - (July 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Mandy's Interview' - (October 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Mandy's Curves' - (November 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Bribe' - (November 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Agnus' - (December 1979)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Agnus's Surprise Visit' - (March 1980)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Bloody Nose' - (July 1980)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'Brent's 'Druff' - (September 1980)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Sacking of Brent' - (September 1980)
- Mort as a Manager with
-Mort the Shit Manager: 'Oppression Supreme' - (December 1980)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Heat Machine' - (March 1981)
Mort the Shit Manager: 'The Day Off' - (April 1981)
"Agnus darling, you must leave…, I insist", wailed a distressed Mort attempting to usher a hideous-looking female out of the Kwiksave front door.
She was as broad as tall, the gender only becoming apparent due to huge breasts the size of large melons, wobbling around with no support under an ill-fitted loose baggy blouse.
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...'the closest possible image that could be seen as Agnus'...
Words cannot describe Agnus apart from grotesque and repulsive; she was blessed with a wart-filled face, hairy ears, and a barely intelligible slurring voice with deep-set eyes filled with intense lust that were currently fixed intently on Mort.
“Less, goo to the bakkshop and shagg”, wailed the distraught Agnus waiving a boxful of extra small Condoms around vigorously. “I gott the rigght uns fer yous”
Mort wanted to sink into the Kwiksave floor and felt the many stares around him starting to culminate into grins and worse.
Agnus was his huge secret and nobody could ever know about this embarrassing creature who had tricked him into marriage by way of an accident behind a 'Rhododendron bush’ just a few months prior.
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...'Mandy, the dream, he had almost fucked it up once, was there another chance?'...
He wanted that delicious Mandy, with the impossibly big hips and matching enormous tits. Not all massive paps were the same and those previous ill-managed seconds had educated Mort in sex more than any time in his entire life.
With a huge shove from Mort, Agnus lost her balance falling heavily on the pavement outside the store, condoms flying in all directions.
“Owww, that urt, whys yous pussh me out?”, wailed an agitated Agnus, “I wants to plays wit ur littles willy”, she moaned lifting her enormous bulk from the pavement as if it was some small inconvenience.
She's got the innate healing rejuvenation properties of a fucking troll as well as looking like one, thought Mort in dismay.
"Tonight darling, we can do it all night"; Mort whispered the lie in her heavily whiskered-filled ear. He then subsequently scratched vigorously at his chin, feeling several moving insectal presences.
Something was crawling around his jowls, and biting at his lower jaw.
for fuck sake…, don’t get too close, I should know better, he thought grimly.
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...'extra small rubbers, I was surprised to find they DO exist'...
Slamming the store door close and locking it, Mort turned around and studied the bewildered stares, while continuing to scratch vigorously.
They were grinning, mocking, taking the piss, almost all of them. The disrespect was intolerable and contemptuous.
"YOU, YOU, …., and YOU, in my office now", screamed Mort, his face beetroot, and with visible steam emitting from his ears.
How their smug faces changed as soon as I invoked my authority, thought Mort keeping his visage stern and unyielding.
Taking care to omit Mandy from the accused conspirators, Mort marched the three now-shaking checkout operators to the office and closed the door with a slam.
"All of you have behaved in a manner that is considered gross misconduct, and with regret, I must terminate your employment immediately", droned Mort, his regular condescending demeanor returning with alacrity.
“But… Mr Mortenson, I…I, have a baby to feed”, sobbed Julie, a skinny woman in her mid-twenties with a slightly hooked nose and hirsute chin.
If you were to gain another seventy pounds and buy a fucking shaver, I may have given you a raincheck', thought Mort unsympathetically, his eyes studying Julies' shape without any disguise.
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Sharon better hire some fatties as replacments; eating cream cakes daily and handfuls of pork pies should be a mandatory skill for that job, he thought.
Carol, another skinny but short woman in her forties who spent most of her idle time drinking wine seemed suddenly more relaxed and spouted, "Do you really need extra small rubbers, Mr Mortenson?"
She had nothing to lose. He detected the smirk and exploded in an instant.
"GET OUT, OUT... OF MY OFFICE NOW", he screamed yanking open the door and marching to the front door. The former tenacious Agnus had miraculously vanished, thank fuck for that.
With some fumbling he hustled the trio of ex-Kwiksave checkout employees out slamming the door behind firmly him.
“Mr Welsby is doing his rounds tomorrow boss”, came a taunting voice from the stairs. Sharon, the bad-toothed sultry supervisor was sliding down one step at a time wearing that familiar annoying cheery grin.
Elton Welsby, the explosive Area Manager was coming here, tomorrow, but how…?
“What do you mean, Elton is…., you told him?”, accused Mort his anger rising instantly, a feral snarl appearing on his lips.
"Careful now boss, I have my secrets you know", chided Sharon with a wink.
“Mandy…, we need to check the prices; it’s just you and me for a while”, she said giving Mort a sly look before heading to the solitary manned checkout.
...that fucking bitch, I will see her sacked soon; she is heading out of that front door with my foot imprinted on her scrawny arse...
Mort, the Shit Manager is a Serial Shitposting Fiction Story inspired by Torundel the Shitposter by 
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