At 34 years of age I'd
thought my really cool funky days had gone. Today, someone reaffirmed my
faith in myself by saying I was really cool.
I'd built a papier
mache model of myself as usual and placed it in a noose above my desk.
As is often the case, by peeking from the stationary cupboard, I
witnessed colleagues rush to free the accurate replica and commence
resuscitation. When the chest caved in to reveal the newspaper interior
they realised they had been duped again and I burst out of the cupboard
feet first. Slamming forcefully into the chest of the nearest colleague,
I screeched "Marbles" and thrashed at my clothes, eventually removing
them.
Naked I began to strut
back and forth with a vile smirk attached to my face like leeches on a
child's leg. "Who wants to expedite some actions on my ass?" I'd ask
each person in turn. That was when a member of security beamed down from
the ship and began to beat me with his cyber-wand.
I was gratified and bleeding to hear, with each successive thrash, him state clearly "you….are…really…cool".
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