Man’s Absence from Work ‘Merely Coincidence’ During Hottest Week in Jersey

AN ISLANDER claims it is merely coincidence he’s fallen ill during the nicest week in Jersey

Blake Dempsey is known as the ‘slacker’ of his floor, and has taken great pride in doing just enough to ensure he doesn’t get sacked. However, he has recently admitted to testing how thin the ice is, until it snaps, leaving him to die inside the mouth of a massive finance octopus:

“So yeah, I mean the weather has been unreal recently and I haven’t been working, nor have you lot been reporting on my current life, which has been a blessing to be honest because sometimes I get really sick of reading your fake bullshit news.”

“Moving on.”

“I was at work on a Thursday (proving I am a man of commitment) and saw that Jersey had purchased some heat from Hell for Friday and the following week. Being the intelligent man I am, I ensured to dramatically inform all my clients and colleagues that I had a ‘lil cough’ and probably wouldn’t be in tomorrow, and I made extra effort in sneezing on my manager and tactically vomiting down the scanner (fuck those reports).”

“So, I call up on Friday, and inform the overlords that I’m ‘well ill’ and won’t be in. Seemed sound, went to Brelades, had a Q (short for BBQ) and then proceeded to deep-fry myself in aftersun and Sambuca later that night in Mimosa.”

“Nailed it, I thought. Proper nailed it, like in that Leo DiCaprio meme, where he’s holding that champagne in The Great Gatsby.”

However, Dempsey’s fortune was short lived, as a vicious rumour had began to escalate within his social circle, like a psychotic fidget spinner:

“So, there I am on Monday at 8am, chilling. I send the email to my manager Susan, explicitly describing how my fatal cough is still fatal. However, I was met with this sarky fucking response:

‘No problem, Blake, enjoy the weather…😏’

“First of all, Susan, don’t put three of them fullstops at the end of that email, we’re not in a relationship, and don’t you drop the slanty-face emoji you demonic snake.”

“So, I reply all like:

‘Well, no Susan, I won’t be enjoying the sun as I’m fatally ill. But thanks for you kind words.’

“Then she reveals that someone saw me hitting up Mimosa on the weekend. So, either she’s poker-facing the shit out of me, or someone’s hired a private investigator to follow me round Mimosa.”

Since that email, Dempsey’s plans to hit Big Vern’s and swan around St Ouen had hit a massive stupid wall, and now finds himself hiding from the public and only visiting the Co-op if strictly necessary:

“Can’t leave my house now. Susan is legit watching me. I feel like I’m in an episode of Black Mirror, but Susan is the mirror.”

Dempsey revealed that his Monday tanning session down St Ouen had been ruined, and had it not been for some ratbag grassing him in, none of this would have happened:

“Susan seems to believe that people don’t fall ill over the summer. Plus, I have Celtic skin, and my beard sometimes goes ginger, I could legit be dying, and Susan is just slanty-facing the shit out of me and laughing with the accounts department.”

However, after stumbling through Snapchat, he came across a story he’d accidentally saved from Saturday night. In this story, Dempsey begrudgingly admitted that he may have accidentally stumbled across some evidence that brought the infamous ‘grasser’ to justice:

“Yeah… turns out the person who saw me was, in fact, Susan. She also claimed that I tried to bribe her with a fiver and some aftersun in order to keep my little illness secret on Monday morning.”

“Fair play Susan. Proper Jason Bourne’d me there.”

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