Aaaaaaah! The delights of scab picking. It

Aaaaaaah! The delights of scab picking. It shouldn't feel so good to self mutilate surely it goes against the logic of allowing your body to heal but yet

the universal pleasure of scab-picking is a true human phenomenon, worthy further study. I placed half of my scabby subjects in a comfortable room & the other half I handcuffed &

showed video of the comfortable subjects picking their scabs. The handcuffed subjects trembled and rubbed their scabs against the concrete floor. My supervisor walked in and picked

a few of them off the floor and licked "them." He smirked and said, "Zesty." Ew. How could he eat them? He was a foul foul man my Supervisor was. His skin flaked off off his scalp

And he just picked it up and put it in the trash. I left the room, making an excuse. Then I folded this story, line 5. Then I just worked at me desk and took care of business.

As I sat at the desk, though, the strangest thing happened. A man wearing something weird walked into my cubicle! It was a

, um, it was hard to say what it was. His suit cycled through murky shades. The face shifted, eyes green then blue, nose transforming. "I need this tsp report by noon." he burbled.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Bookman, sir, whatever you say, sir!", I replied with deadpan sarcasm as my boss continued his bizarre transformation into an octopus on the other side of my desk.

I held him up to one of my faces and I bellowed, "you are just a diamond in the rough and I am here to make you harder", but I said it in Elder Ones Speak. Then I wreaked havoc.