Hard at Work

Lately, there seems to be a sort of competition going on between the women in my office to see who can dress the sluttiest without actually violating the dress code. Honestly, it's been a couple weeks of far-too-tight blouses and ridiculously short skirts and tousled hair and sharp heels and sparkly lipstick -- enough to make me expect to see a DJ booth set up in the corner of the cafeteria.

The other day, rumor had it that HR was gonna bring down the hammer. Reissue dress codde guidelines. Start actually sending people home if they don "office inappropriate clothing" [their terminology].

My feeling is this: Watching all this ass parade around me at the office has made me a mental fucking wreck, but in the best possible sense. I can't wait to get into the place. I wander around, wide-eyed, soaking it all in. I'm meeting new people. Making new connections. Staying awake in meetings because Elsa from Accounts Payable keep standing up and pacing in those goddam pants that fit so snugly to her ass I'd swear she just sat in a paintbucket before driving to work. My heart is pounding, my blood racing, I've never been more alert. Sure, my cock is painfully engorged from the minute I get to the office until I leave for the day, but if that's the worse thing that happens at work, I can deal.

My point, I guess, is that all this ass and cleavage is good for the company. It's boosting "employee engagement" (hell, I know I can't wait to get to work today). It's got my mind and blood buzzing. I'm working off frustrations from 9 to 5, and I've never gotten more shit done.

You wanna go back to long dresses and suitjackets for ladies, go right ahead. But you'll soon realize the truth: T&A is the fuel that runs this world.