Damn it! I swore the anonymity of Bieber on a Unicorn would
inspire the kinds of prolific ramblings my old site produced, but the truth is?
I’m narcolepsy-status fried-dazzled by the end of the day.
It’s hard to blow nine straight hours writing exclamatory banner
ads and editing jargon-laden, 40-page tech briefs only to come home and log in
to Word again.
Good God, I’m like the overworked gynecologist who’s so
burnt out on probing poontangs all day he can’t have sex with his hot trophy
wife.
I’m sorry, Word, but I just can’t bone you tonight. Don’t
look at me like that. We can still cuddle. You need a little handy? You want me to cup your nut satchel?
Well maybe you should have thought of that before you gave my
typing finger "carpool" tunnel syndrome with that last virtualization white
paper, you smug little paperclip-mascot bitch. You googly-eyed cartoon freak. Stop dancing at me, paperclip!
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