Those that keep score have tallied a heavy toll of naughtiness. Some might bear witness to agent spanky operating outside of the realms of decency.

Last week Wednesday, still hobbling through an overnight sinkhole schedule, decided I was feeling too well for work. No reason to waste healthy clear brained spanky ecosystem on the jobby job. So I called out healthy, and quickly arranged a night of devilry with the homies and the honies.

Two days later, same previously mentioned blood sausage felching overnight tankwad schedule, wait until ten minutes into when my shift was supposed to start and inform the madman in charge I would be tardy. I had a chick moist in the undies insisting that I continue coaxing her juices into the open air. Told my shift supervisor on the phone "I'm in the middle of something, I'm gonna be late.". "Are you geting laid?" (Apparently, as was relayed after I got into work, the sounds of her moaning in the background were clearly audible over the phone) "Yeah." "I'll see you when you get here." Much more signifigant clitoral duties made being three hours late inescapeable.

And then there was yesterday. Around six in the everloving morning, I was still awake and sauced like twelve Bananas Fosters, staring down a shift to commence at eight in the muthajumpin morning. Picked up the receiver. Dialed the digits. "Tell those fools that I ain't comin in." "Alright spanklin, get some rest." Click. Became human somewhere in the afternoon. Hooked up and shot stick for innumerable hours, pausing for breaks to suck back blunts.

Editorial adjunct. Blunts suck. The flavorific herbacious sticky greens that line a blunt skin is not the focal point of suck. Cigar wrapping smoke ain't meant to be forcefully drawn into your lungs in mammoth smog clumps. My stomach does a crampy dance after smoking a blunt. Stop the blunt madness now!

Two altercations, with weasily, bereft of spine, hairy bean dip shyster coworkers nudged me closer to the bad bad employee of the month award.

Shrill shrieking one minute after my shift starts kicks my gas face attitude into hyperdrive. Double barrels. Maybe if accident victims sprawled everywhere profusely bleeding on gurneys needing attention would I accept people screaming at me. I literally had to vigorously grasp the insides of my back pockets with both hands to refrain in bitch slapping the shrinky dink. Summation type deal; a serious database issue went down, he's panic's jizz jar, he freaked and demanded help immediately. After asking him to transfer the issue to my shift, he announces that "You dummies can't handle it.". So my pat response to anything he said after that was fuck you, take care of it yourself. So he wrote an extensive email to the department head, who after a week has not mentioned it to me at all.

Second little rift in the geek continuum. A frenchy in one of our international offices kept pestering me one night over the weekend. I stopped replying when he evinced that he was born clueless. This necessitated a multimanagerial inquiry. I had to open a vein and write a detailed course of events in my own blood. Little do they know that I opened a roid and dragged my bleeding ass around some company letterhead. Le toad was quickly dismissed, and I haven't heard word one since.

Today a potential record breaking profits client is being given the grande tour. Which of course includes an extensive showcase of the cave I ignore work in. Days in advance, notifications of looking smart were sent out. So here I sit, in all my glory. Black leather dried cocktail splattered Pumas, black jeans with faint nacho stains, and an obviously not new black t-shirt with whiffs of variegated smokes and my own hints of chipotle chicken like body odor. Five days growth on the cheeks, and bloodshot eyes. Also, I haven't exactly defeated my insomniacal tendencies, so am bordering on raving lunatic style stream of consciousness vocal emissions. The locals are at least finding humor in my silly voiced verbiage. Bring in the suits! Impressed they will be, bucking for severance I am.

Figure this would be the best moment to finally sample some of NYC's finest call girls, and put on a show in the company's game room for the security cameras. Actually the CEO's office would be a splendid setting for a barely legal cheerleaders who squirt porn video.