The halloween candy bucket still lay at his

The halloween candy bucket still lay at his feet as he gazed over the array of corpses that lay in a pattern consistent with the general arc of his scream. Banshee? What did that
have to do with my dual plight of male pattern baldness and the heartbreak of psoriasis? Plenty. You see, just the other day I was
shampooing with a lethal melange of Rogaine and Head & Shoulders. It burns with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns, but I am the masochistic type who enjoys pain with my
orgasm. I've been known to choke it and scrape a cheese grater across my sack. I'll never forget getting a blow job from an Armenian jockey while jamming paperclips into my
nostrils. In fact any office stationary items I could get my hands on would do the job. I was addicted, a dirty secret I protected vigorously from my colleagues. Even my boss
would barely raise an eyebrow as he looked over my office supplies request. Didn't I order a 6-pack of White-Out just last week? Fortunately for me, he was too busy to notice.
Post-it notes, medium binder clips, legal pads, pen trays, filing accordions, staple removers. The neurotic office manager with an office supply fetish placed his
Sharpie smartly up his secretary's bum, a permanent marker underscoring her continued loyalty to the firm. "Take a letter, Miss Witherbottom," he said. "My dear Archbishop Smoothy,
due to recent events" Miss Witherbottom's hips began moving smoothly over the paper, her eyes never leaving mine "your account has been terminated. etc etc" she shimmied a few
times, just to let me know that she knew i knew she knew i was watching. I gulped. My collar tightened around my neck and the oxygen slithered out of the room. "Marry me," she said

Started: 2010-12-02 01:54:10
Finished: 2010-12-28 17:19:57

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