As I sit with my eyes fixed on the door and my back placed firmly against the wall, I wait for the heat of the lamp to slowly cross under my balls. There is nothing more pleasurable in this world than feeling a warm heat lamp cross slowly under one's tackle. The sensation allows me to escape…if only for a second. In that moment I see life through different eyes and I begin to feel things that are foreign to me. I see the world as it was when things were simple, when there was no right or wrong. Joy and contentment overwhelm me; the kind of feeling one gets when experiencing a drug-induced hallucination of puppies flying gracefully through the sky while shooting rainbows out their assholes. This moment takes me away…shit, who am I trying to fool, the fucking lamp is burning the hair off my nut sack.

As I regain consciousness I am amazed to find that my anal artwork has remained in my hand. My genitals can't handle any more abuse. I jump off of the photocopier to save what is left of my charred balls. There on the glass of the photocopier is a perfect print of my ass and balls surrounding a pile of ash. The remnants of my pubes. Oh well, saves me the hassle of shaving again. Before I leave the room I make sure to blow the smouldering evidence off of the glass then wipe it clean with the sleeve of my vintage faux leather Thriller jacket. No one must suspect a thing.

Gazing at my magnificent creation pleasantly displayed on company letterhead I tell myself with a grin, "One hundred copies should do." One copy for the bulletin board and ninety nine copies for the recycling bin. If I am going to waste office supplies I may as well recycle. I hate my place of employment, but I do love Mother Earth. After screwing the company out of forty seven cents I peer out of the photocopier room doorway. I scan all directions to ensure my journey to the bulletin board will be safe and I will remain unseen. I take small steps and keep my position low. I move with the stealth of a partially blind three-legged cat–I cannot be seen, I will not be seen.

The theme music for Mission Impossible blasts through my head. This powerful and melodious tune provides me with the inner energy I require to place the cherry on this testicular sundae. Adrenaline pulses through my veins, stripping me of inhibitions and offering me the agility necessary to attempt something I have always dreamt of: a dive roll.

I am up in the air, I am doing it! "I'm really fucking doing it," I confidently say to myself while in mid-air, but before I can bask in my Special Olympic glory, I land on my head. My temporarily unconscious body bounces into the wall.

As I regain consciousness I am amazed to find that my anal artwork has remained in my hand and is unaffected by the maneuver. Rising to my feet I experience what some may consider to be an out of body experience… nope, it was just a fart. I glance around to see if anyone witnessed my head dive into the floor and luckily no one did. If anyone had seen my fall, the entire mission would have been blown. I forcefully pin my masterpiece and a yellow envelope to the bulletin board, but before I walk away I admire the bait on my hook.

Written on the envelope in permanent black marker is:


The grating scrape of elevator doors opening and the chatter of mindless drones alert me to the arrival of my dumbshit coworkers. I begin to stagger back to my desk; I must put as much distance between the artwork and myself in order not to arouse suspicion. On the way I am greeted with the sounds of "Good morning elephant nuts," "Hey kiwi dick nice to see you," and "Fuck any hot vacuums lately?" I ignore the colorful comments made by these scumbags and finish hobbling back to my tomb.

As I enter my cubicle I am pleased to see that my chair is exactly where I left it the night before. There have been occasions on which people have left wet and slimy objects on the seat of my chair to greet my tired ass in the morning. Now, after each day of work I make sure to place my chair in a certain way to ensure that I am able to detect if someone has messed with my shit. No one has, so today will be a good day and no one has to find a Ziploc bag full of my excrement in the glove box of their car.

As my ass begins its slow descent to the seat of my chair something catches my attention. Something is not right. After making a quick survey of my desk it appears that someone has provided me with a generous stack of memos. Normally this would cause me some distress as it is my responsibility to distribute new memos to the entire office, but since today is such a special day the sight of them makes me very happy.

After careful and deliberate consideration I determine that this two-inch pile of memos will provide me with at least one and a half hours of intense and meaningful entertainment. I begin my gaming celebration by pulling out my garbage basketball hoop and homemade backboard, and apply it to the edge of my garbage pail. I have invented the most amazing and ingenious backboard. It's last year's company Christmas photo. Without delay I begin to crumple the memos to the size of my fist to practice my air hooks.

The sound of people gathering around the bulletin board puts a temporary stop to my game of Memo-ball. My head rises over my cubicle wall like a 90-year-old man experiencing a chubby for the first time in 50 years. A pack of coffee-addicted vultures are gathered intently around my masterpiece. I rub my hands together and chuckle in a diabolically low voice, "Laugh it up shit sticks, we will see who's laughing when you spend the next five days staring intently at a picture of my balls and ass trying to figure out what it is. That's right, who's laughing now?"

As I sit back in my chair to revel in my magnificent glory, I remind myself that tomorrow is Wednesday, Hump Day. Hump Day is, and shall remain, my favorite day of rest, and, like every other Hump Day before it, I must make sure to stop off at the local porn store on my way home and rent my entertainment for my next day of work. Happy Hump Day.