His Name Most Certainly Was Not Rick
There once had lived a socially depraved man named Fred
Who most did not care whether he was live or dead.
He was nothing more than a lowly software engineer,
A dreadfully hellish life he made into a career.
His existence that had revolved around his computer,
One that was devoid of all hope for a brighter future.
One day, his clean-cut boss that had taken the company
Because it was originally owned by his rich daddy,
Was walking down the bland, grey hall.
With a plastic smile he sounded his dreaded call:
"I'm ever so sorry to inform you," he said ever so fiendishly,
"But I'm going to need you to clear out your desk for me."
Fred sat and stared at his monitor in complete disbelief
Had he just been fooled? Was he just deceived?
Or had the purpose he had so blindly served for years
Been taken from his very grasp without so much as a tear?
His tiny insignificant cubicle had suddenly become colder
The towering boss beside him put a hand on his shoulder
"I'm sure you'll find better employment else where, Rick."
And that's when Fred heard something in his brain click.
Something that had cracked the base of his very spine,
Causing his frail brain stem to twist, warp, and grind.
It was then that Fred stood high above his desk,
And with a yell ever so abused with neglect,
"My name…is not… RICK!" The broken man sounded,
His boss standing there completely dumb founded.
The mortified man, staring and utterly appalled,
Said he: "What the hell is…?" but that was all
For Fred picked up his invaluable letter opener
And he thrashed away at his former employer.
Blood spattered Fred's piano key tie
As he mutilated his boss until he died.
A secretary approached, stopped, her mouth gaping,
She pulled out her cellphone and had begun taping.
Fred swiped from her hands that very recording device
And took his red stapler to her greedy, blue eyes.
Fred then ran off, weary witnesses believing he realized what he saw.
Unfortunately, to their horror and dismay, he returned with a roaring chainsaw.
He hacked his coworkers in twain,
Laughing with glee at their pain.
And then once more Fred stormed off, this time to the boiler room,
For Fred had a horrid plot in store for the surviving workers' doom.
He crossed a wire
And set the whole building fire.
If there is a moral to be learned,
Less there be a massacre earned,
Head my warning and don't be slick,
Never call dear old Fred by the name of Rick.