Raza Ijaz – HOW TO NOT GET BORED AT WORK

How to Not Get Bored at Work

No, the answer is not rolling your neck to toss your eyes into a co-worker’s cleavage, and
neither is letting a tab of porn silent-fuck amidst ten other important looking ones just for the
kicks (that your ribs will inevitably get from all your male colleagues when you stupidly
adjust the volume and not the brightness during a meeting). Don’t imitate any of Jim’s pranks
from The Office; that shit’ll get you fired in the real world. The bathroom is also a no-go.
Only five things can happen in there. 1. Recall how your coworking crush told you during
lunch that her ex pet hamster’s name was Musharraf (inspired by her father’s hate for the
troops). 2. Force your bowels to move when they’ve been stretched to the limit with
rock-solid waste, and you waste an hour pushing so you have an excuse for missing three
meetings. 3. Expand the Nickname Encyclopaedia you’ve created for your boss’ moustache
that you notice changes every day. 4. Masturbate. Now hold up. Replay a few scenes from
Blackmail. See where a daily habit of masturbation to pictures of co-worker’s spouses leads
the late Irrfan Khan. Hint: you may murder someone by accident and then fool yourself into
thinking you can live with it. 5. You end up doing all these things all at once. You masturbate
to a mental GIF of Musharraf the hamster whipping your ass with your boss’ shapeshifting
moustache, screaming all the nicknames you ever gave it and once you’re finished, you
realize your bowels have moved. It’s a two-way shit and cum trap if you take your pants off
now. You could try exposing your side that relishes Dad Jokes, but everyone in the
lunchroom will soon, politely desert you. Or worse, if they’ve ordered dessert that day, hurl it
at you. Spending hours thinking about your hate for this job that promised more than just
headhunting on LinkedIn is also not the answer. You may turn into an actual headhunter and
create your own app called KilledIn. Smalltalk never gave anyone happiness. When you’re
back at your desk at some point, brain heaving and bum-shat, you catch your neck before it
rolls too much. You kick that tab of porn into the search history and erase it for all time. You
leave today’s jello dome unpenetrated by somebody’s stapler, unlike Jim. You punch out the
knob of the bathroom door till it falls out along with your right hand’s knuckles. Door
swaying, you sit to take a thorough shit.

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