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

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