The Fourth Judge

I have the best cubicle setup at work that a human being could possibly have. Short of getting an office, there is no way my situation could possibly be improved.

I’m at the end of a row so nobody ever walks past me. People only stop by if they need something from me, and since I do as little as humanly possible here, that’s a rare occurrence. My cubicle is so isolated I could jerk off to completion during 95% of the work day.

What makes my cubicle location truly outstanding, though, is that I’m right next to a window with an amazing view of Midtown Manhattan. This shit is seriously out of control. Anytime I get bored cruising Dead Nigga Storage (highly recommended) I take a break to look out my window and take in the wonders of New York City. I can observe the people scurrying about on the streets below. I can scan the rooftops and get jealous of how many trees that obscenely rich asshole has on his custom-built deck. I can bask in the majesty of the Empire State Building.

The one downside is that my boss sits on the other side of my cubicle and is even more enthusiastic about the view than I am, often demanding that I drop whatever it is I’m doing (gchatting) to appreciate a rainbow or beautiful sunset.

I’ll be sitting there scratching my nuts as per usual and she’ll shout, “[REDACTED]! [REDACTED]! Look out the window! Isn’t that an amazing rainbow! Isn’t it just beautiful!”

Now look, I’m not some Cro-Magnon fucktard. I can be moved by beauty. I contain multitudes. But there’s some back story here that you need to know to fully appreciate the situation. I work at a non-profit that not only pays its employees below market value, but actively refuses to give them raises. So, in lieu of giving me a living wage, last year they decided to give me this amazing fucking cubicle to get me to stick around a little longer.

When my boss tells me to appreciate the rainbow, she’s saying “see, see, look what we did for you. Don’t you appreciate working here?” I’m not a political animal, but there’s only one way to respond to a question like that. I have to verbally, enthusiastically appreciate that rainbow while my friend in the cubicle next to me mocks me silently. I have to feign excitement like I just opened Ducktales the video game for Christmas when I WANTED FUCKING CONTRA. It’s miserable, but such is the price one must pay for freedom. I’m like a modern day Patrick Henry.

When I read about music I want to download I send myself an email with DL in the subject line and the artist name and album title in the body. Every time I do this I forget that I just sent myself an email and get super excited that my inbox just jumped from 2,126 to 2,127, which is depressing on two levels.

The first is that, obviously, I’m retarded and forgot I just sent myself an email. The second is that I check my email so frequently that at any given moment I know if 2,281 looks funny.

“Did my gmail tab just flicker? Wait, didn’t I only have 2,280 unread emails a second ago? MAYBE A HUMAN BEING HAS REMEMBERED THAT I EXIST AND DECIDED TO SEND ME PRECIOUS, PRECIOUS WORDS TO HELP ALLEVIATE THE CRIPPLING, EXISTENTIAL BOREDOM I SUFFER EVERY SECOND OF THE WORK DAY!’”

I hate waiting for a text from a girl. Inevitably everyone in my contact list will text me before she will. I’ll feel the vibration in my pocket, excitedly fish my phone out, then realize it’s only Fred. Then I get pissed that Fred is even texting me. What the fuck does Fred want? I’m not hanging out with that asshole this weekend.

It’s the same principle as when you’re waiting for the subway and every train comes in both directions before yours does. It’s so similar that I bet the same person is responsible for both phenomena.

It’s probably Michael Jordan. That cunt ruined my childhood. I was a Knicks fan and his Bulls teams broke my heart every single year. Well guess what, MJ, you arrogant fuck, you. I still have a silk-screened Modell’s T-shirt of John Starks dunking on your degenerate, Hitler mustache wearing face.

/sips 4th whiskey of the night.

Would a girl ever allow you to use a vibrating cock ring on her (the kind with clitoral stimulation features) that she didn’t have a hand in purchasing? I should probably just throw this thing out, right?