No Couth from the Office Chocolate Whore

Some of the office girls and I were craving chocolate one day after lunch.

"I would crucify a small child for some chocolate right now," New Person in next cube raved. Her Aussie shampoo shit is giving me a headache. I don't know what is more disgusting the bacon bits in her teeth or her crunchy hair.

Long Island cube mate exclaims, "I am joansing for some chocolate too."

I outstretched my fat paw, "Alright, lard asses, give me your contribution and I'll take the walk to Shocki for some peanut M & Ms. You all are just trying to make me fat so Hot Office guy will stop asking me to lunch. Jealously is so ugly, ladies." If this were a Jenna Jamison flick, a lesbian would have licked her finger and touched my ass, making a sizzle noise.

As usual, "Shocki was nice little Asian lady." Not to my surprise, her M & Ms were fucking overpriced like everything else in her Westernized cave. God forbid I have a run in my pantyhose, Shocki would break my pocketbook.

The office girls were waiting at the cubes like a pack of wolves, drool bouncing off their keyboards.

We all met in hushed silence at my cubicle to separate the candy into paper cups, attempting not to arouse the Office Chocolate Whore. The beast was no typical Office Chocolate Whore; he was our main motherfucker, the CEO of our slave trade.

It was too late. When Office Chocolate Whore had begun his afternoon snack stroll, he suspected that my absence was relevant to his craving. Besides, Office Manager had spilled the fucking beans. She was out to get me, I was sure of it. I must deal with her another day and time. On to the problem at hand, my friends.

As the cups were filled and everyone went back to their workstations, the Office Chocolate Whore smelled the chocolate in the stale, office air.

"Ladies, what did you buy me?" he questioned in a John Travolta Grease Lightning manner. All he needed was Olivia Newton John in spandex with her hand in the ass of his Levi’s. She was a real pussy wagon.

How dare he? This son of a selfish bitch makes six figures and is begging the same employees that he pays less than minimum wage to sugar coat his chocolate ass. That cheap bastard should be the one passing out chocolate, not his borderline poverty piss ants.

The Office Chocolate Whore has always been known far and wide for his addiction.

We were in a pitch a couple of months ago when Office Chocolate Whore attempted to devour a tray of cookies in the back of the meeting room. It was ridiculous to the point that the Potential Client paused the meeting so Office Chocolate Whore could get his fourth round of goodies. Embarrassed, he then wrote me a note that read, "When you get a chance, get me some White Chocolate Macadamia nut cookies, preferably the bigger one on the left."

That son of a bitch had mapped out the cookie tray. More audaciously, he was throwing me out on the front lines, making me his sacrificial chocolate lamb. Chocolate was his drug of choice, and I was going to die for his addiction.

I had to put a stop to his addiction once and for all. I thought of an evil plan. I laugh in the face of this Office Chocolate Whore.

"Here you go, Boss. Here is your cup of M & MMmmm," as I sneezed into my hand. I methodically separate his candies into the cup with my germy mitten. I knew he would not take my candies from me. After all, I had corrupted them with my common folk germs, caressed them with my greasy, poor hands.

"Oh, sir. I am so sorry. That sneeze just snuck up on me like an enemy in the Vietnam jungle. I am so sorry that your M & Ms are filled with my germs. Please forgive me."

"That's fine,” he said as he snatched them from my phlegm paw. “I will just wash them off. Thanks, ladies. I can always count on you for candy."

Empty-handed, I wondered what the fuck just happened? This was no normal disease; instantly, I thought of a lifelong lesson that I learned from my Club Pride choreographer. Man whose name I forget in bright Club Pride tee and matching wristband once said, "Those addicted to drugs suffer from a compulsive drug craving and usage and cannot quit by themselves. Treatment is necessary to end this compulsive behavior. Can anyone translate that into sign language for next week‘s performance?"

Club Pride and I pray that help will be sought out by the Office Chocolate Whore as he crawls back to his lair, munching his prize like an African lion crunching a Zebra bone.

A tremendous opportunity exists to effectively change the ways in which the public understands drug abuse and addiction. I have noted some of these below.

Number one, Asian ladies who sell overpriced candies are one of the million to attempt to do their part in stopping the spread of this addiction. Keep selling.
Number two, do not offer chocolate that has been sneezed on, shit on, or extracted out of small children's hand to anyone you may suspect of this disease. Number three, totally non-related, Office Manager will die.

©2007 Jessica Smith