Through my pinhole I can play I spy into the bosses office. His secretary stands and spits into my eye.
Help me lord!
I bought a potplant back from my travels. It sits to the right of my in-pile. A Yersina plavius, its flowers bloom with a putrid odor of rotting flesh. Attracting all manner of insect life this plant shrouds my desk in a cloud of buzzing flies and fetid stink.
My work is about auditing other offices. I bring a notepad, calculator, phone, and my intellect. I ask for their files, their bookwork. My decisions are in keeping with modern business ethics.
Then I shit in their hats and leave.
Where do you leave your left over lunch from last week? Mine is in the drawer at the bottom of the filing cabinet. Even now the ham still smells good….
I have a Le Grande Chair. Makes my desk/office suite very comfortable. My keyboard is sticky from the messes I have made. A whole new religion now in my coffee cup. Sometimes I lay back on my chair and, after viewing my internet-connected computer, me and my penis take aim at the roof. The remains hang down from the roof like Florida chads.
Most nights I work back late, buring the midnight oil, my arse is red raw from my bosses dick. I know what I want and I know he will give it to me.
No doors out in my office only doors in. I push back from my desk in my chair and spin round the room. Blue lights in the dunny prevent me from using my injection equipment so now I cram my nose with the stuff.
I dream of those dancers and the sweet sweet juice between their legs...
Help me lord!
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Comments (1)

Anonymous
said:
|
We are all very sorry, but it is much too late! Even The Lord cannot help this case. Let this be a warning to all who follow the siren-call of the high priests of economic rationalism! Stop before you too become lost and beyond help. If you have photos of the P.M. John Howard on your desk, it is already too late. |
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