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Out of context: Reply #17251
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- Spookytim0
I sit at my desk. My dislocated neck allows my lower jaw to rest fully against my chest and I breathe fibres from my own sweater as my hands operate a keyboard and mouse somewhere beyond my sight.
My field of vision is filled with my crumpled crotch, and as I work the mechanisms of yesterday's technology I chuckle groggily into my gut and call out for somebody to bring in the nubiles.
I feel a fart clawing its way out and do nothing to impede it, only later realising it made its escape with some luggage which was then hastily abandoned.
The nubiles writhe and cojole in the theatre of my mind, but do little to relieve me of this tedium.