The relentless barrage of worthlessness. I’m tired of spam! I yell and then from over the cubicle wall, a tuna sandwich, and it tastes good.
Tagged: Work (581)
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I went to the deli. I asked for my sandwich without cheese. The counter guy started yelling at me before calming down. Then he called me odd.
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The insurance man speaks of liabilities and I say, You’re a liability, and then I light a smoke and play with broken glass and then he cries.
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The man on stage asks, How do you define success? and though no one will say it, we know it means being paid to ask inane questions on stage.
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I told her how I liked to use salad dressing. She called me a pervert. A week later she showed up at my work and said, I’m partial to Ranch.
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I took the candy and the baby cried and my wife said, So you would, and I said, Babies are too young for candy, because my wife is a dentist.
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Things got contentious and she called me a big fat jerk and then I returned to my office and felt bad because I’d put on some pounds lately.
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The office is dark. Empty. He finishes his report and laughs; the thing is garbage. He trudges home. Hunting the mammoths of his imagination.
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He finished speaking and his cynicism hung in the air like a rain cloud, and then I started clapping and the sarcasm echoed around the room.
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The carpenter takes his shirt off. She says, You’re sexier with your shirt on. He says, But it’s hot. It is, she thinks, but not hot enough.
