When I arrive at work I have a choice.
Useful or useless.
And I always choose useless.
I'm not looking for pats on the back, but it makes me feel good inside.
It's a great way to spend the day. The blood starts racing to my mid-section everytime I stand between a person and the success of their mission, giving me an erection rush that will soon be augmented by opium. It's an exhilarating rush, especially when I turn around and see their self-esteem flee their body.
When the day ends, I seek out the person to nonchalantly rub it in, taking advantage of the inanity that makes it easy to bob my way to the top of the corporate ladder.
Will I live longer? Maybe. The entrails of my victims sustain and vigorate me. Does it keep me in shape? Probably not. Many of my victims are fatties.
Do I feel good? No question.
I'll take useless over useful any day.
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