When I walked into work that morning, it was obvious that something was amiss. My coworkers were flashing me knowing glances, conspiratorial smiles, and hushed whispers among themselves. Jane, who is both hideous and gossipy, asks me, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I guess,” I replied timidly.
“You must really like quarterly audits,” Jane prodded.
“Come again?” I asked, but Jane just grinned sheepishly and walked away.
I couldn’t focus on work with everyone behaving strangely towards me. It wasn’t until lunch that I figured it out.
Most people read a book or watch TV before bed. I usually masturbate. Even the nights that I don’t masturbate, I typically get hard in anticipation of self-gratification. Two nights ago, Ed and I went to a concert at the Roseland that didn’t let out until well after 2:00 AM. I got home and rushed straight to bed. When the alarm sounded three hours later, I was tempted to call in sick (i.e., tired and hung over), but I knew I had a meeting to discuss quarterly audits, so I showed up. There are few things more sleep inducing than listening to my boss drone on about quarterly audits while pointing to a projected image in a warm, darkened room. I did my best to stay awake, but Mr. Happy assumed it was time for bed. The meeting ended, but my erection persisted. I got up to leave and did my best to hide the tent in my pants. I stared down at it, trying whatever I could to make it subside. “Baseball, Barbara Bush, dental cleaning,” I though to no avail. Jane, who was talking to my boss at the time, paused her conversation awkwardly. She must have noticed.
I need to quit my job.
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