Nation’s Workers in Foot Pain Apocalypse; Foreman Reno Jackson, from His Throne of Apathy, Spits Venom

Foreman

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Reno Jackson, Foreman for SmithCo Construction.

A jaw-dropping new survey has exposed the grim truth: America's workforce is hobbling through a foot pain Armageddon. The data screams that 44% of U.S. adults are waging a losing war against their own feet, with construction grunts, healthcare drones, and retail serfs leading the charge into a podiatric hellscape.

The survey, polling 1,000 tortured souls, paints a dystopian picture of a nation limping toward collapse:

• 56% curse their feet daily as traitors to the cause

• 48% are ready to burn their careers to the ground just to sit down for five minutes

• 1 in 5 have begged for workers' comp to save their mangled soles

• 24% are convinced their jobs have doomed their feet to eternal ruin

"These numbers reveal a workforce being crushed under the weight of their own arches," said the lead researcher, probably while icing their own feet.

But out in the wilds of a construction site, far from the cries of the suffering, we found a man who laughs in the face of their pain.

ENTER RENO JACKSON, THE FOREMAN FROM HELL

There he was, Foreman Reno Jackson, a 325-pound colossus of cruelty, sprawled across a La-Z-Boy that wheezed like it was begging for mercy. Ensconced in his air-conditioned fortress, Jackson glared out the window at his toiling minions like a vengeful god who traded his lightning bolts for a bag of pork rinds.

When we dared present the survey's grim findings, Jackson shifted his bulk, prompting a groan from his chair that sounded like a dying walrus and unleashed his scorn.

"Foot pain?" he bellowed, waving a half-eaten Slim Jim like a scepter. "Boo-hoo! You know what's painful? Listening to these crybabies yammer while I'm trying to enjoy my third coffee. My feet haven't touched dirt since Y2K was a thing, and they're living the dream."

Jackson, whose daily exercise involves nothing more strenuous than scratching his beard, unveiled his diabolical "solution" to the foot pain crisis.

"I call it 'outsourced suffering,'" he sneered, flicking Dorito crumbs off his grease-stained shirt. "I pay peons to destroy their feet so I don't have to. It's called being a winner."

When told 48% of workers are desperate to flee their soul-crushing jobs, Jackson's eyes gleamed with malice. "Quit? Pathetic. They should try growing a spine instead of whining about their toes. I clawed my way to this chair, and I ain't leaving unless it breaks, which frankly, is a real risk."

This titan of tact, whose last manual labor predates the iPhone, had choice words for those chasing workers' comp. "Compensation?" he roared, his laugh like a cement mixer choking on gravel. "The only 'compensation' they deserve is a swift kick to toughen 'em up or fire em' all. Or maybe dunk their feet in hot tar, call it a spa day."

As Jackson snapped his fingers to summon an underling for his second lunch (a bucket of wings and a Mountain Dew), he offered a final, venom-laced pearl of wisdom: "Your feet hurt? Tough. Keep standing, keep suffering. I'll be right here, judging you from my throne when you're old and broken."

The research team, visibly shaken, refused to comment on Jackson's reign of terror. Rumor has it, half of them are now applying for foreman jobs, hoping to escape the foot-pain apocalypse.

Take care of your feet! You need them.