God! Look at all of em’! They’re fucking gorgeous. I feel like I’m in 4th grade again and I want to say “hi” to all of the popular 5th grade girls sitting at that same back table that they always occupy during 4th period lunch. Joey Harris made a pretty gutsy move a few months earlier by trying to sit at their table before they got there. I guess he was hoping that they might actually sit down with him and laugh at some of his jokes. Then he could be king of the 4th grade because he hit it off with the cunt brigade. What a dip shit.
I can’t blame a guy for trying though. None of us would’ve minded just being a crumb on the edge of their plate or a piece of gum on the bottom of their shoes just so we could be in their presence. They were just so hot and so…hmm?…hot! We had no gauge of true beauty at age 9, but we were pretty sure that these girls we wearing training bras and we liked it.
Joey didn’t stand a fucking chance because as soon as they saw him waiting for them, like clock-work they sat two tables over as though they had been doing it all year. I felt bad for Joey because he sat there all lunch period by himself. No one was brave enough to join him. Maybe we should’ve though, we could’ve reclaimed our territory! Those broads were like fucking gypsies. If anyone ever invaded their “lunch space” they would just move on to another part of the lunch room. Where was their dignity? Where was their sense of ownership?!
Nervously I approach, but I’m comforted because I think they’ve been waiting for me. Maybe they’re longing for me. Ready for me to run my fingers along their smooth and curvy exterior. My hands are starting to tremble. I’m fucking sweating.
What first though, what is my pleasure?
What is my object of lust?
I choose the Pilot Precise V5 Liquid Ink Rollerball Pens. They come with a 0.5 mm, Extra-Fine Point with black ink and come in a 12 pack. As I unwrap the package and caress one of the instruments the cold plastic feels like an extension of my hand. Maybe we were separated at birth or maybe I’ve found my soul mate. I feel complete.
As I put pen to paper the ink gushes on to the note pad for the ultimate clerical climax. This experience could only be described by a man who has just lost his virginity to the girl of his dreams after he has killed his arch nemesis by beating him to death with a blunt object. It’s an unexplainable pleasure.
Calling them office supplies never felt comfortable to me. It’s agreed that they do supply great joy and comfort to many, but I’ve always held them in a higher regard.
National Quadrille7 1/4" x 9 1/4", Black Composition notebook with 192 pages
HP 12C Platinum Edition Financial Calculator
Panasonic KP-380 Black Electric Pencil Sharpener
3M 1 1/2" x 2", Post-it Notes In Canary Yellow, Pad of 100 Sheets, Pack Of 12 Pads
Falcon Stainless Steel 5" Blunt Scissors
Scotch Wave Desktop Two-Tone Black Tape Dispenser
I’ve heard people’s personalities described in less words.
These are not just descriptive names for office supplies. This is fucking corporate pornography and I’m addicted.