The DVD case smells like shit. Actually now that I think about it, it smells of the store where I rented it. It smells of cheap cleaning supplies and musk. I stare intensely at the case trying to figure out exactly where I remember smelling the musky stench before. Sitting back in my chair gazing up at the ceiling, it hits me like a bolt of lightning. The musky smell reminds me of a time when I was a child and I went on a school field trip to the local petting zoo. I remember smelling my hand after petting a wet llama. Yup, that's the smell. What a disturbingly foul odor. Oh well, it's Mimi's Erotic Journey from Brussels to Berlin: The Erector's Cut, in 3D, so I am one happy man. Not even the offensive aroma of llama musk can bring me down.

I'm always nervous about touching myself at work but it quickly melts away when I remember the fortune cookie logic.The sound of the opening CD-ROM drawer sends shivers down my spine and reminds me that I must ensure I have complete privacy before the show starts. I quickly pop my head up above my cubicle walls and scan in all directions to ensure the coast is clear. As predicted, everyone is diligently working, earning their slave wages. Returning to my chair I whisper to my reflection in the computer monitor, "Now is the time." It is imperative that I am not disturbed while watching my Wednesday porn. I find watching porn to be a spiritual journey, and as with all spiritual journeys one must have complete privacy.

I make sure to gently place the disk into the CD-ROM drive without actually touching it. I may be a pervert but I'm not stupid; I don't know what kind of sick bastard touched this last so I am going to ensure that it never touches any part of my skin. While the CD boots, I open the lower drawer of my desk to grab my earphones. I don't want anyone to hear any of the amazing grunts and moans of the exceptionally talented actors in this epic journey. If anyone were to hear this stunning tale of pump and grind they may decide to come over to my tomb to have a look. I take every precaution to ensure that this does not happen.

I have tried in the past to make Wednesday "National Porn Day," but my attempts have failed miserably. People just refuse to accept my logical reasoning for choosing this day of the week to watch porn flicks while on the job. In order for people to transcend into an inner world of greased up sexual bliss they must realize the well-known fact that Wednesday is the only day of the week on which a human being can watch porn at their desk and have total privacy. On Wednesday everyone is working their asses off to complete all the work they didn't do on Monday and Tuesday. And they're also trying to complete all of their work for Thursday and Friday so they can continue to coast for the rest of the week. This routine takes place in every office building across North America so I feel very secure each and every Hump Day when I watch new and interesting footage of consenting adults fucking like wild animals.

My monitor is warm and so am I. I am ready to begin my hour and a half of spiritual training. Like an airline pilot I make sure that all electrical equipment is in working order and all chairs and penises are in there upright position. Earphones and 3D glasses on… check. Computer speakers turned off… check. Personal lubricant within arm's reach… check. Everything is in order and I am ready for takeoff.

This particular film is foreign to me. I have never in my life watched European 3D porn with subtitles. I consider myself to be an avid porn connoisseur and I am in shock that this is the first time I have watched a film of this kind. My excitement is palpable. As the movie begins I am stunned to realize that I am having trouble focusing on this interactive piece of artwork. I find it very difficult to enjoy the spectacular footage while trying to read grunts and moaning translated from German to English. "Oh well," I say to myself as I dodge ejaculate flying at me from the screen. "It still rocks."

Death would be better than having to live with this heinous memory. Boy, do Europeans know how to get down. Twenty minutes and seven scenes of unspeakable interactive sexual acts later I am consumed with an overpowering urge to release my pent up frustration. With lubed up cock in hand I begin my sexual march to the Promised Land.

I am always nervous about touching myself while at work but it quickly melts away when I remind myself of some well-known fortune cookie logic I picked up last year while touring the orient: "Masturbating while at work is not wrong unless you get caught." Praise Mary's Ass for fortune cookies and their scrolls of truth.

Thirty seconds pass and I begin to feel my chair move from side to side. My heart beats faster and I have this overwhelming urge to look behind me. My spider sense is tingling, and so are my balls. I release my cock from my sensual death grip and slowly turn around. To my amazement half of the office staff is standing behind me staring at my moment of near-bliss. My member immediately goes limp and so do I.

The room begins to spin and I have an overpowering urge to vomit. Maybe if I'm lucky I will suffer a myocardial infarction and die. Death would be better than having to live with this heinous memory. True to form, I am not lucky enough to die, I just pass out.

On the way to the floor my earphones are pulled from my head and for a split second before I become totally unconscious I distinctly hear the voice of the ancient receptionist over the intercom system informing the entire office that there is birthday cake in the board room. Luckily for me my cubicle is conveniently located directly across from the door to the board room.

Damn. I forgot it's The Dick's birthday.

Happy Birthday, Dick.