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I hate the sounds that keyboards make. With each stroke of my fingers, I feel my intelligence slipping away. I’m a data entry zombie. No brains required. I’m the bathroom attendant of the the white collar work force. Four years of college for this shit, God, I am as stupid as I look.

“Hey, ya, Willie boy!” said Tom. Great, I thought I detected the distinct smell of semen. I dislike Tom, to the point of wanting to piss in his mouth.

“Heard you got a raise buddy, congrats,” said Tom, “who’d you have to blow for that?”

Your mother you fat fuck. I worked my ass off for two years for that extra forty bucks a week.

“Thanks Tom,” I replied. I hope you choke on a Frito you rotund pig. I flipped him off as he left my cubical.

The break horn sounded. It’s the Sunday church bell and it was time for my daily bread. I reached in my pocket feeling around for change. A dollar fifty, it was time to make my offerings to the vending machine, the giver of the mighty sugar buzz.

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