Read Online CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw by Draven Madpen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Draven Madpen
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accomplishments we
employees in this building perform day in and day out!
With the rabid foam beginning
to form in my mouth, it seems I’m on the very brink of an apoplectic explosion
when Natasha comes into view. The useless janitor is instantly forgotten. I
train my eyes on her face, not caring if she sees it or not. I must observe her visage for new material. There is an intangible quality in her
features. She possesses the most alluring mannerisms. An intoxicating
temptress. Is she intentionally playing this noirish character? She couldn’t
be. How?
Natasha sidesteps the hideous
janitor before glancing up at me. She’s startled to find me here. Our eyes meet
for a brief moment. Quickly, she looks away. I continue examining her physique.
She’s wearing a feminine executive suit and skirt which perfectly matches those
red-framed stylish glasses setting on her nose. Harlot! She is forever wearing
a skirt! You see, this is the type of woman who knows she has a great body,
with heart-stopping legs, and likes to show them off. And why shouldn’t she?
I suppose it’s the kind of
attire deviant bosses fantasize about when their young secretary is working
late at the office. Though there is nothing sexual here, I can assure you. I
find myself entranced by her features. They’re tailor-made for that of a vixen.
She, the most elusive of women, haunts these halls with her fleeting presence.
Like a lustful apparition.
And just as fast as she had
appeared, she vanished. Out of sight and tucked away in her office one door
down to the right. However, I got what I needed. This dose of inspiration may
even last me the entire month.
Twenty minutes later the
motley morons begin arriving. To a rather dusty environment, I might add, all
in thanks to the lowlife custodian. I find their sad, ill-fated “woe is me
expressions” delighting. I once heard the saying, “Every time a friend
succeeds, I die a little.” That goes double for me. What better than to see
others fail? Especially those working so hard. So you can just imagine my glee
when I observe another’s misfortune. It does wonders for my self-esteem,
skyrockets the confidence. Nothing quite boosts my general level of happiness
so effectively. There’s no greater joy than seeing defeat and despair in your
fellow man. Especially a fall from power. A tumbling from grace. Speaking of…
Wilmer strolls into the
office. I notice he’s carrying an object under his right arm – it’s wrapped in
brown packaging. Unease… A foreboding feeling grips me.
“Morning Jums,” he says and
continues into his office, slightly closing the door. Tap. Tap. Tap. Of
course…
Percy enters a little later
on. He’s got a client with him. Some old bag with a bad hairdo. The “old woman”
style I call it. They’ve somehow plastered the hair so stiffly that it won’t
need another squirt of hairspray for at least a year. Knowing most of them,
they’ll probably expire before then. Maybe it’s the easy maintenance routine .
Look Murdel, you’re ancient. You’ve only got one year left to live. Just
get it plastered. -- What did ya say, dear? Uh huh… I’m told they frequent
hair salons once a week. Which is more of a social outing than anything. The treatment ,
realistically, lasts for a week. They don’t wash their hair during this time.
It’s been sprayed stiff as a board and styled exactly how they want the
vulgarity to appear. I guess if you had warped, aged, delusional eyes then you
might find such a disaster to be aesthetically pleasing.
I’m sure Sullivan would prefer
hundred dollar bills sprouted from their heads. He greets me a bit more
amicably than normal. The youthfully challenged woman looks toward Percy with a
surprised expression. As if she can’t believe how kind and gentle the man is.
She says “Good morning, junior,” to me before following after Percy (who now
held her hand in the crook of his arm).
It’s been a long day thus far.
Lots of strenuous
employees in this building perform day in and day out!
With the rabid foam beginning
to form in my mouth, it seems I’m on the very brink of an apoplectic explosion
when Natasha comes into view. The useless janitor is instantly forgotten. I
train my eyes on her face, not caring if she sees it or not. I must observe her visage for new material. There is an intangible quality in her
features. She possesses the most alluring mannerisms. An intoxicating
temptress. Is she intentionally playing this noirish character? She couldn’t
be. How?
Natasha sidesteps the hideous
janitor before glancing up at me. She’s startled to find me here. Our eyes meet
for a brief moment. Quickly, she looks away. I continue examining her physique.
She’s wearing a feminine executive suit and skirt which perfectly matches those
red-framed stylish glasses setting on her nose. Harlot! She is forever wearing
a skirt! You see, this is the type of woman who knows she has a great body,
with heart-stopping legs, and likes to show them off. And why shouldn’t she?
I suppose it’s the kind of
attire deviant bosses fantasize about when their young secretary is working
late at the office. Though there is nothing sexual here, I can assure you. I
find myself entranced by her features. They’re tailor-made for that of a vixen.
She, the most elusive of women, haunts these halls with her fleeting presence.
Like a lustful apparition.
And just as fast as she had
appeared, she vanished. Out of sight and tucked away in her office one door
down to the right. However, I got what I needed. This dose of inspiration may
even last me the entire month.
Twenty minutes later the
motley morons begin arriving. To a rather dusty environment, I might add, all
in thanks to the lowlife custodian. I find their sad, ill-fated “woe is me
expressions” delighting. I once heard the saying, “Every time a friend
succeeds, I die a little.” That goes double for me. What better than to see
others fail? Especially those working so hard. So you can just imagine my glee
when I observe another’s misfortune. It does wonders for my self-esteem,
skyrockets the confidence. Nothing quite boosts my general level of happiness
so effectively. There’s no greater joy than seeing defeat and despair in your
fellow man. Especially a fall from power. A tumbling from grace. Speaking of…
Wilmer strolls into the
office. I notice he’s carrying an object under his right arm – it’s wrapped in
brown packaging. Unease… A foreboding feeling grips me.
“Morning Jums,” he says and
continues into his office, slightly closing the door. Tap. Tap. Tap. Of
course…
Percy enters a little later
on. He’s got a client with him. Some old bag with a bad hairdo. The “old woman”
style I call it. They’ve somehow plastered the hair so stiffly that it won’t
need another squirt of hairspray for at least a year. Knowing most of them,
they’ll probably expire before then. Maybe it’s the easy maintenance routine .
Look Murdel, you’re ancient. You’ve only got one year left to live. Just
get it plastered. -- What did ya say, dear? Uh huh… I’m told they frequent
hair salons once a week. Which is more of a social outing than anything. The treatment ,
realistically, lasts for a week. They don’t wash their hair during this time.
It’s been sprayed stiff as a board and styled exactly how they want the
vulgarity to appear. I guess if you had warped, aged, delusional eyes then you
might find such a disaster to be aesthetically pleasing.
I’m sure Sullivan would prefer
hundred dollar bills sprouted from their heads. He greets me a bit more
amicably than normal. The youthfully challenged woman looks toward Percy with a
surprised expression. As if she can’t believe how kind and gentle the man is.
She says “Good morning, junior,” to me before following after Percy (who now
held her hand in the crook of his arm).
It’s been a long day thus far.
Lots of strenuous
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