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Friday, March 23, 2000


The Anti-Depressants! Founded in 1998 by licensed 

psychologist Dr. Saul Abendheimer, the group was 

pooled from his private practice’s clientele of 

mentally ill patients for fighting crimes mainly 

relating to the thriving anti-depressant industry. A 

ragtag team of 4, each with their own mental issues, 

they fight to protect America’s right to medicate and/ 

or sedate. 

They are: 


Real Name: Jonathan Stone 

Age: 38 

Marital Status: Divorced Twice 

Day Job: Collecting unemployment/ Dominos Pizza, 


Super Powers: Alcoholic who becomes enraged and 

belligerent when intoxicated. 

Astrological Sign: Gemini 

Medication: Zoloft and Various Spirits 

Fun Facts: As the designated leader of the team, 

Captain Inebriated is the go-to guy in times of 

trouble. Never sober, he has the know-how, skill and 

liver to think out of the box and get the job done. 

His favorite drink is Crazy Horse Malt Liquor. 


Real Name: Bianca Huffington 

Age: 22 

Marital Status: BI-Curious with abusive ex-boyfriend 

who reminds her of her father 

Day Job: Starbucks Coffee/ Counter Help 

Super Powers: The ability to have severe mood swings. 

Astrological Sign: Pisces 

Medication: Lithium and Prozac 

Fun Facts: Raised in extreme wealth in a suburb just 

outside of New Haven, Connecticut, she discovered her 

super powers at an early age. Whether attempting 

suicide, lighting fires or laughing uncontrollably, 

Bipolar Girl learned that she could use her illness to 

help others. Her ability to shed tears and seem 

sexually loose are two of her strongest weapons and 

have proven over time to be important assets to the 



Real Name: Ricky Powers 

Age: 16 

Marital Status: Heartthrob to all the high school 


Day Job: Burger King/ Fries 

Super Powers: Hyperactive 

Astrological Sign: Taurus 

Medication: Ritalin 

Fun Facts: Born into poverty and raised in Foster 

Care, Kid Ritalin soon learned to use his 

uncontrollable energy as a powerful weapon. With his 

aggressive attitude and overall lack of good 

parenting, he proves a formidable force for even the 

strongest enemy. His secret weapon is downing a Coke 

and Pop Rocks before going into battle. Watch out bad 



Real Name: Joe Hogan 

Age: 51 

Marital Status: Separated from wife of 30 years. 

Day Job: Shop Steward for United Association of 

Plumbers and Pipefitters – Local 120 

Super Powers: Grand Mal Seizures 

Astrological Sign: Scorpio 

Medication: Tegratol 

Fun Facts: The backbone of the team, the Seizure is 

the oldest and wisest and in times of trouble, acts as 

father figure to his fellow teammates. His gruff 

attitude cannot hide his soft heart of gold. Since his 

separation from his wife Eileen 3 years ago, he began 

having seizures which when not treated properly can 

also be used as a destructive force. Foes turn tail 

and run when they see the Seizure shaking his way 

towards them. 

Every super hero team has an arch-nemesis and the 

Anti-Depressants are no different. Soon after the 

team’s formation, another of Dr. Abendheimer’s 

patients, jealous of his exclusion from the group, 

left the Doctor’s care and took himself off 

medication. This man, Dr. Malcolm Kurkshank, 

coincidentally a psychotherapist as well, decided to 

take his revenge in the most devious of ways. The 

destruction of all the pharmaceutical companies 

manufacturing medications for depression! Taking the 

codename Denial, he uses his criminal mind and hired 

mercenaries to strike crushing blows against the 

Anti-Depressants and their struggle to keep medication 

available to every patient that needs them. 


Real Name: Dr. Malcolm Kurkshank, M.Ed. 

Age: 48 

Marital Status: Married to his work 

Day Job: Private Practice in Family Counseling 

Super Powers: An inner rage that has never really been 


Astrological Sign: Leo 

Medication: None 

Fun Facts: Denial is the evilest of enemies! Not to be 

taken lightly, he possesses the innate ability to 

direct his misguided anger if need be in the heat of 

battle. He has a criminal mind and a vast knowledge of 

the medication his foes take. This gives him an 

understanding of their various weaknesses and in some 

cases, the upper hand! 

February 15, 2000


To quote the Communist Manifesto, "All that is solid 

melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man 

is at last compelled to face with sober senses his 

real conditions of life, and his relations with his 

kind." If you’ve read any of my stories in this 

section before you’re aware that an overall theme in 

many of them is the Internet and the “hijinx” I get 

myself into through using it. The majority of the time 

it involves the women I’ve met by chatting back and 

forth through email. One of my more popular ways of 

whoring has been mass mailing the erotic stories I 

write to mail boxes of unsuspecting women who have 

placed ads up. Now I’ve never posted any of the 

stories up here and I most likely never will. My 

Web-Mistress Kara convinced me that it wasn’t really 

what the site was about and I agreed even though I 

consider my erotic fiction to be some of my best 

written material. Regardless, I’ve continued to use 

them over time to get women to write back to me. I’ve 

actually ended up making quite a few pen pals all over 

the United States, some of which I’ve actually 

corresponded with for over a year. After the first few 

emails from the ones who’ve enjoyed the stories, the 

subject usually turns away from sex and ends up being 

more about everyday stuff. I’m not sure normally if 

this is something I would have started doing but with 

immense amounts of downtime at work and the struggle 

to stay awake and alert on a 3rd shift, it’s been a 

good thing in retrospect. I’m sure someday I’ll look 

back and feel guilty but until then I thought it would 

be fun to display some of my favorite responses I’ve 

gotten over the past year so that we could all laugh, 

cry and…maybe even learn something. 

The names have been changed to protect those I love. 

I’ll start with some positive ones… 

I don't hate it... I'm starting to marvel at your 

creativity... Have you had an experience like this? I 

don't suppose so... Where do you come up with your 

Ideas? Do you write solely for enjoyment? Do you write 

for a magazine? Have you submitted your stories to 

erotic Internet sites? Sorry for the so many questions 

this story took me by surprise.... I want to learn 

more... I'll give you something. Chris... Last Week I 

printed your stories and took them home with me... I 

took a bath laid down in bed warm under the covers 

just me alone and re read them... Chris I fingered 

myself reading them for you... send me more. Eagerly 

awaiting your next response... Andrea. 

I’ve wondered if I had something to do with what 

happened to this woman… 

You are so incredible!! Just reading what you've 

written makes me moist, especially when i find myself 

slipping a hand down into my panties. Please write me 

more, I would love to be used in real life in the ways 

I am in your stories!! Write back soon!!! (something 

about a frat party would be great, consider it a 

fantasy i have) xoxoxo Mary 

A week later she wrote… 

The party was INCREDIBLE. There were tons of hot guys 

and I took my pick of four of them and asked them all 

to meet me up stairs. They were kinda confused when 

they got up there and saw each other, but the got real 

excited when i told them that I wanted all four of 

them to have their way with me. My God, I have never 

been fucked so much in one night. I loved it! When all 

was said and done, I took a shower with a couple of 

them, got dressed and left. I've got to do that 

again!!! xoxoxo Mary 


i saw a vision in my mind and i was sitting on your 

face reading printed out copies of these delicious 

stories of yours feeling the tip of your long cock 

poke me in the back begging me seducing me feeling the 

warm pre cum slide down my spine into my ass and i 

felt hot and wet you sipped at my juices at i got 

hotter and wetter and then i begged you "i want more 

so much more" i came this time i want to come harder i 

want some roughness around the edges i want to shove a 

12 inch dildo in your ass watch you scream in 

submission spilling your seed all over me in me you 

must do this ... :) 


Hey, You are writing to both me and my roommate now, 

(***** so you can just write to me and we 

will both read it...we would like to hear our names in 

one of your stories (Lucy and Sara) =Þ 

And then I’ve also gotten some not so nice ones… 

What the fuck was that? Don't breed, earth doesn't 

need more people like you. *J* 

This is in response to a story I wrote involving a 


Six months later I decided to press rape charges on 

you, the bartender, and the other scum bag, This was 

right around the time that you three found out you had 

contracted H.I.V from me. While you three SUCKERS were 

sitting in jail, it turned into AIDS, and the world 

was three LOSERS less!!!! 

I guess I should scrap my trip to Mississippi… 

Hi this is Kathy’s boyfriend. I am not sure were you 

are from but here in the magnolia, this perversion is 

not acceptable to the ears of beautiful women. Now I 

want you to listen to me and I want you to listen 

good. If you don't have anything nice to write don't 

write anything at all. Then next time I will expect a 

nice conversational letter telling her how much you 

are sorry for last letter you wrote. By the way I 6'5" 

250 lbs. and will hunt you down. So the best thing for 

you to do is grow up. Keep dreaming though 

Uh oh… 

Dear Classifieds2000, I am writing to let you know of 

inappropriate use of your classifieds. The following 

is an email I received from someone who is obviously 

perverted and mentally ill. I would appreciate 

anything you can do to put a stop to any further 

responses he sends through your system. 

And finally, my personal favorite… 

c- That was the most obscene and degrading fucking 

thing that I have ever read. I hope you lose your dick 

to a freak blow job incident and get assfucked with a 

bat. -mere 

Thanks to the many people who’ve written me back. Good 

or bad, it sure is nice to get email. 


February 15, 2000

Good news, we’re on the 2-yard line. With this 

momentum, I’m sure things should sail right through. 

I’ve been thinking though, about the consultants we 

hired last November to increase morale amongst the 

employees. Steve, if you could have them released from 

their contracts this Friday early morning, I’d 

appreciate it. I think with this new vision thing 

we’ve been harvesting here up at the top, workers will 

see that the future is bright and come around to a 

more collective way of thinking. I won’t lie to you; 

this trip has been a revelation for me. In my solitude 

I’ve found new strength within and discovered that my 

leadership abilities are even greater than I once 

thought possible. There are some very friendly brown 

natives here on the beach and I’ve taken to getting 

them into groups and teaching them some basic American 

skills. You know, pretty much the usual fare, the 

desire to achieve, valuing property, how not to 

embarrass oneself. And in some cases I’ve even given 

out pointers on what makes up a good solid handshake. 

Honestly though, I don’t hold out much hope for them. 

They don’t possess the same values that we do back at 

home. It’s easy to understand the simplistic struggles 

of their mundane lives. Regardless, I’ve learned a lot 

about myself. I believe that upon my return I’ll be 

able to be the measuring stick by which we should 

calculate every employee’s value to the company. I am 

prepared to sacrifice and let myself be such if deemed 

necessary by the Core Team. Thanks again Steve for 

standing in for me during my sabbatical. It’s going to 

be difficult to see you move on to new ventures upon 

my return. I’m sure all will experience mixed emotions 

and have to work that much harder to guarantee a 

smooth transition. I’m confident you’ll do what’s 

needed to insure everything goes as planned once I 

arrive back in the fold. Feel free to cc this memo to 

the “boys upstairs”. Please say hello to Liz and the 

children for me. 



January 18, 2000

UNTITLED STORY by Christopher O'Hare & Bill Gard 

I’d spent three years underground painting and had 

nothing to show for it except a damaged liver and a 

broken marriage. She’d left in February but I hadn’t 

stopped drinking. Breakfast was a series of shots 

spilling into lunch, which was usually pasta. When we 

were married, I had tended to be more creative with 

the cooking but now alone, I could have cared less. I 

was involved in isolation so deep that to the common 

folk I was merely a ghost in the afternoon. 

A year passed as I struggled to regain the creativity 

of my youth. I could no longer stay awake for days or 

dip into my reserve when dry. Hundreds of moments of 

self-declared genius were now singly appearing. Where 

drinking used to fuel me it now worked in reverse, 

sucking me of anything creatively valuable. I was in 

the middle of dating a similar model to my ex-wife 

when the bottom dropped out. My peaceful non-existence 

became disrupted when the vehicle I used for work, 

died. All of a sudden after years of being able to 

take work that kept me far from the real world I was 

faced with having to return to it. To the non-artist 

with his or her life together it would seem obvious to 

simply buy another car but to me, it was not an 

option. I seldom had money and when I did, I was 

struggling to stay ahead. I had no choice. I sold my 

car to a Honduran family for parts, bought a shirt and 

tie and prepared to make my comeback. 

Entering establishments with my fraudulent resume in 

hand, I met with the finest temp agencies Boston had 

to offer. I was qualified to do much more than I ever 

imagined. My quirks and creativity came across like 

people skills as opposed to unmanageable 

individuality. And slowly I came to realize, my time 

away from ‘reality’ had served me well, giving me the 

skills necessary to maneuver in a world so filled with 

it’s own bullshit. I was placed in a company, 

eventually hired and thrived primarily because of my 

ability to disappear and get along. It wasn’t so bad. 

A lot had changed though in the interim. Amazingly, 

mankind had actually figured out a way to become more 

disengaged with each other. Computers were now 

commonplace and email was now the primary way of 

communication. And I immediately saw the evil that 

could be done. Working the 3rd shift allowed me many 

benefits. First off, I had no supervisor and secondly, 

I had a free computer. After a few months of figuring 

how the thing worked and living in fear of 

accidentally accessing information that could be 

misconstrued as being pornographic, I decided to throw 

caution to the wind and delve deeper. Mainly because 

as time went on it became apparent that I was simply 

known as a body filling a chair at a 24 hour a day 

business and no one cared what I did as long as it 

wasn’t too obviously or publicly stupid. And since my 

return to living amongst the serfs, my artwork had 

fallen to the wayside and I needed an outlet for my 

creativity, however bizarre. 

The marriage of email and sex seemed natural. My last 

girlfriend had long since left my life and I was 

working on a solid year of celibacy. I began 

responding to the Internet personals on such a level 

that I started to feel like I was actually earning my 

wage. My approach was like guerilla warfare. In a 

scene overwrought with average Joe’s attempting to get 

dates or even casual sex from a wide selection of 

email babes, I needed to stand out and attack it in an 

unconventional way. So it started. I would email every 

woman in the personals list that night, sometimes not 

even reading their ad. And when I wrote it would be 

nothing related to asking them out or wanting to get 

to know them but instead a story I had just written or 

something clever and uncaring or sometimes even 

argumentative. The responses spanned from ‘I hope you 

die and rot in Hell’ to ‘You’re very funny’. 

Regardless, they were writing back. It would only be a 

matter of time before I felt ready enough to take it 

to the next level. To blindly go and actually meet 

someone I’d discovered late one night on my computer 

at work. 

And then it happened. Her name was Bertha Butt, one 

of the Canada Butt sisters. Her first series of 

e-mails were frivolous and funny. But soon my swift 

responses led her to a more intense probing, mainly of 

a sexual nature. 

She didn’t write about actually meeting for about two 

weeks. Obviously, she had run into jerks in the past 

who were untruthful with their emails, and she didn’t 

want to waste time again. With me however, after her 

subtle screening, she felt she could take the big 

step. She offered to meet. 

I was shocked that she would drive from Canada to meet 

me. But this was the new internet world, breaking down 

barriers and creating a new sociological soup. I 

explained to her how to find interstate 93, and once 

found, to drive to exit 35 and meet me at the bottom 

of the exit , the Medford Mobil, at high noon. I 

would be the one in the orange wool hat, and I would 

be standing next to the air pressure gauge so she 

could differentiate me from any other guys in orange 

wool hats standing at the Medford Mobil without a car 

at noon in the middle of winter. 

It was exhilarating when she showed up. The fact that 

we didn’t end up having a boilerplate romance is 

insignificant. What was fantastic was that two people 

from different nations had emailed each other on 

computers in the middle of the night and had 

synchronized a meeting at a gas station without train 

or plane schedules or another human having been 


Then it struck me. No one knew and no one cared. 

Hell, if I wanted to move that cache of plutonium down 

my cellar, I could just find a new email friend and 

deliver it to her. The hell with my previous thoughts 

of starting a tax-free religion! I could become a 

weapons materials magnate and once again have funds to 

buy art supplies!


I. Prelude

Here at work at night it's lonely. I'm thinking of all of you and what 

you must be doing. Probably sleeping. Sometimes I do that too. When no 

one's looking I put my face against the pink linoleum to drool and 

dream. It's the only way to get through it all. With no real point of 

existing, it's hard not to become unfocused on my goal. Pussy. My name 

is Chris and I am an Internet whore. 

II. Bill & Cathy & sometimes Alvin but never Ernie

I work with a guy named Bill. You probably know fifty 'Bills'. He's 

another one. He tells stories. They're funny. Right now he's snoring. 

Around 2 a.m. he wakes up and goes on about changing jobs so he can

feel like he's doing something with his life. Then he goes back to sleep. 

Cathy spins back and forth in her chair. She says she's asleep too but 

her eyes are open. Is she lying? I only see Alvin one night a week. He 

hates it here. He comes in and usually falls asleep pretty quickly, 

which is good because we're afraid he might kill us all if he were 

awake. Ernie used to come in but he's been missing now for a week and 

it's upsetting because I loaned him a cassette.


III. 443 Bunker Hill (and don't forget 88 Baldwin!)

I'm here because my car died and I couldn't continue delivering the 

Boston Globe 7 days a week to your doorstep or in your door any fucking

longer. Oh...wait...that's not what happened. Now I remember. I got so 

drunk one Saturday night that I couldn't go in Sunday to do my job.

Then my car died. Then I came here. I make more money and have less stress. 

Thank you Jim Beam!

IV. Police, Frampton and Medical Emergency Elton John

We're supposed to get phone calls. We don't. Sometimes I'll just walk 

around wondering if it's important that I'm out walking around and not 

back sitting down. I have a lot of information I don't need because I 

don't use it. Every now and then I get up and push a button that places

a test call. I don't even get that call because I've been up pushing

the button. Bill or Cathy gets it. Sometimes Alvin does. Never Ernie. Bill 

likes to joke around at that point. Cathy doesn't joke. Sometimes Alvin

does. Ernie used to. The only thing that saves me is the Internet. If I

ever come to work and the Internet access is cut off, I'll go home. I'm


V. Bring on the Bitches

I started fooling around with Internet about 6 months ago. It began 

slowly but quickly got out of control. First I got email. I wrote my 

friend Maria who I really wanted to have sex with. When it became clear

that it wasn't going to happen I switched to the online personal ads. 

They had always disgusted me but I found in my horny boredom that I 

could compromise my standards. Responses began to flow like the mighty 

Nile. Soon I was not only chatting with them but meeting them. Babette 

was the first. She sucked. She was angry. Tina was the second. She

drove down from Canada and we met at a Mobil station at 5:30 in the morning.

I experienced a short dry spell until the first week of December when I 

struck it rich. Her name is Kira. We began having an affair. She's a 

twenty-seven year old bisexual. We fucked for 4 days straight 

and on the last day an amazing thing happened. 

Another woman called me who I had been chatting with. Lisa is an 

eighteen-year-old German au pair. That Friday, after fucking Kira 12 

hours earlier, I fucked Lisa. It was confusing. Who's pussy was my 

hand in? I felt funny. Had I finally completed a project I had set out 

to do? I am Spartacus! 

VI. Epilogue (Teach the smart kids that it's okay to be stupid!)

My advice to the next generation is simply to 'Follow your Dreams'. In 

school they tell you lies. You only need basic math and a little 

reading. I'm a success. Right now there's a CEO of a Fortune 500

company who didn't get a blowjob yesterday. This may not last and I don't care.

It's happened. I've done it. I've finally made something of myself. 

Thank you to everyone who made it possible. You know who you are. And

to Ernie, come home soon. We're worried. I mean...I am. Everyone else is 


The following is a dramatization of what my current job is like:


A Play in One Act by Christopher O'Hare


Bill Gard

Chris O'Hare

Cathy Dorito

The lights come up on an abandoned call center. It is cold and brown.

Cathy sits in a chair spinning. Chris is stretched out across two

chairs. Bill is slumped over, painfully struggling to stay alert. They

all half wear their inactive headsets.

Bill suddenly stirs and raises his head to speak.

Bill: We are but snails on an endless beach waiting to be captured by

the children of summer and placed in their amateurish aquariums.

Chris wakes up and looks at Bill

Chris: Yes Gard! Snails!

Bill: I wonder sometimes what things would be like today if God had lit

the fire he should have under our lazy customer service asses. 

Chris: Hmmm. I am concerned about that but what of my bitches? Who

cries for them? Who saves their virginal vaginas from my evil and

twisted libido?

Bill: Again with the whores! I'm sick of it! What of the future? What

of love?

Cathy rolls her eyes

Chris: Bill, my friend, we only live for today and must as Robin

Williams said so aptly in the Peter Weir film 'Dead Poet's Society',

Seize the day!

Bill: Carpe Diem!

Chris: This is not about fish Bill! It's about meat. How we are but

meat in the grinder of life waiting to be

eaten by the fucking MAN!

Bill: Yes, I agree. Soon that man shall arrive once more in his Lexus

or Volvo or Buick or what have you and in his black suit and yellow

power tie stare at us in this fish bowl fish


Not meat you pseudo David Bowie but FISH! God damned fish!

Chris hangs his head in shame

Chris: But then, if I am a fish...where is my school Bill? Where is my


Cathy spins in her chair back and forth


I work in a world of the fat, lazy and depressed.

Everyone fills up on starchy 

foods and cola and spends their timed breaks in a

parking lot paved with half-

smoked Camels and hocked-up phlegm. Which one I wonder

owns the shotgun 

that will fill my belly full of salvation. I picture

him almost perfectly. His wife has 

left him and it's almost time for his oldest son to go

off to college. Who can pay for 

4 years of college that works here? He's living in a

one-bedroom apartment in a 

more affordable town next to the more expensive town

where his ex-wife lives in 

the house he paid for. And the best part of his day is

when he gets the chance to 

finally wind down with a frozen Hungry-Man, a

six-pack, and whatever's on Cable. 

It will happen early in the workday. Most likely a

Monday. Coming back from a 

weekend of nothing to a week of something worse than

nothing, things will come 

to a head for him. Everything will be clear and things

finally, after months of 

torturous depression, will make sense. He'll start in

a silent spot of office noise and 

without demand or explanation, make them understand.

He'll cut through their 

fatty tissue and their empty brains with burst after

burst. People will scream and 

run and maybe even beg but it all will mean nothing,

because he has won. He has 

conquered life just as he was counted out and now

everyone around him knows it. 

And they will all remember it. Forever. The Customer

Service Representative 

experiences many stresses on the job when dealing with

the client and it is best to 

take precautions against burn-out through the avenues

of anger-management and 

learning the proper listening skills necessary to

remain, "IN CONTROL". 


The following was written during a bad week. I liked it enough though

to post it. Don't read it if you're in a bad mood.


My life is an isolating experience. I was born alone and I'll die

alone. My actions are rhythmic and my rhythms are circular. 

I endlessly revolve in the grayest of spaces.

I'm unable to break free from motion. I choose to go numb instead of 

allowing the inevitable insanity to occur. Everyday it lays dormant and

is only kept that way by my constant self-abuse tactics. No solution to

this is ever felt to be necessary because it is predestined that the solution

be death. So I wait for it daily.

If they found me now what would they say? Surrounded by jars of urine

and garbage bags of porn or the scattered, forgotten artwork. What would

they tell the ones who claimed to really know me? Would they know then how

alone we all are in the world or what it means to be nothing? Would they

finally catch me in a lie?

I always imagined my funeral to be filled with people all forced to

listen to my music for hours. One after another, song by song would play and 

everyone would be struggling just to stay seated. Afterwards, there

would be a dinner and some dancing into the morning. When it was over they would

forget why they came but not that they did. I would be nothing,


In the end it gets you. Your best friend becomes your enemy. You can't

even taste what it used to taste like because it's burned your tongue away

and it's rotted your teeth. You've got nothing and you are nothing but

strangely you like it and still want more. To deviate now would bring tragic

results and in the end it's easier just to disintegrate.

Life is decisions made by choices. Breathing is a decision we choose.

With things that subtle, it's hard not to make mistakes.


Part One - King of Terror!

 Jimmy pulled up to the curb in his 77 Pontiac

Firebird. Janey was already outside waiting. She

looked smokin'! Jimmy was a dumb kid. Dropped out of

high school and spent a little time inside. Assault

Janey didn't care. He was big in all the right places.

Size did matter. Mom was an idiot. Stupid divorced

bitch! As they looked deeply and with understanding

into each others eyes, a sharp sound above made itself

heard from the deep blue summer sky. It was the King

of Terror. The meteor that both of them were too

stupid to ever know about. It lit up the sky. It even

seemed for a few moments as if there were two suns in

the sky. Frightened, Janey couldn't even muster up

enough courage to give her man the end of the world

hummer she had always promised him. And then it

happened. In a flash, all was gone. Those two pieces

of white suburban trash, the Firebird and all of

Earth. And what a purifying moment it was. 

Part Two - After the Shock!

A film covered the planet. Dusty and disgusting, it

smelled like frat party puke on a Sunday morning. Once

where cities had existed, now only valleys lay. The

King of Terror had reversed humankind's climb to

Utopian perfection with a single deft motion. Not an

angry driver, depressed employee or unhappy housewife

remained. And between the sounds of blowing nuclear

winter winds only an occasional scurrying cockroach

could be heard. This was Earth's destiny as

Nostradamus had predicted it. The big blue marble now

just a dull gray ball, his prophecies had come true.

There was one thing though that he could not

prophesize. That on the same day that a meteor would

lay all to waste that NASA would be sending the

shuttle Discovery into outer space to do testing on

the affects of weightlessness on lingerie models. And

that at this very moment those lingerie models were

orbiting above. STILL ALIVE!

Part Three - Bethany, Amber, Madrid and Carla

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Carla. "I think there's

something wrong with planet Earth!" Inside the shuttle

Discovery, four lingerie models far from home squeezed

around the craft's tiny window to witness the massive

destruction below. "It's like, all gross and stuff"

observed Amber. "Yeah, where's Florida?" asked Madrid.

Bethany stood back from the window, looked at the

others and then spoke sternly. "Come on guys, let's

not wig out here. Remember that time on that shoot in

Milan with that really creepy photographer guy who

wanted us all to fuck him? Remember how we stuck

together and got through it okay? If we can handle

that, we can handle this no problem." Bethany was

their leader. A graduate of William Harding High

School in Aurora, Illinois and the only one of the

group not to dabble in Heroin, Bisexuality or

vomiting, the fate of the world now rested on her

shoulders. Somehow she now had to figure out how to

land a spacecraft. When the shuttle was launched, NASA

officials felt it best to control it's flight from

Earth to avoid having to put pilots on board for fear

that they'd have sex with the models. Little did they

know that those models survival would possibly mean

the survival of the entire human race. As Amber,

Madrid and Carla stared impatiently at Bethany,

insecurity and tenseness swelled within her causing

sexy sweat to appear on her perfectly crafted bosom.

Looking into her friend's eyes, she took a slow deep

breath. If they were going to make it, she needed to

get it together and be strong. She needed to use all

her poise, charm and charisma…to land this ship! "All

right girls! We've got to go back because if we're

going to help Earth get better, we've got get down

there and lend a hand!" "But Beth, how?" blurted

Amber, "We can't land a spaceship, we're lingerie

models." Bethany looked angry. No one was going to

tell her it couldn't be done. "It's just like playing

Nintendo," she said. "Now come on Amber, we need to

work together. Let's go. Carla and Mad, you guys work

the landing gear. Amber and I will fly this thing." As

the women ran to their stations, one could only wonder

if they truly possessed the skill necessary to

survive. And if they did, who would they breed with

back on Earth in order to start a New World. What if

the only males living were now nuclear mutants? I

doubt very much that four hot lingerie models would

ever sleep with nuclear mutants. I mean, gross. 

SHIFT LOG ~ 10/19/99 

10-11: I show up as scheduled. Brenda tells me on the 

way into the building that the Internet doesn’t work. 

Fellow Representative Ray Evans informs me again that 

the Internet is not working except at 2 stations that 

will be heavily monitored. I feel a vacant hole within 

when I realize I will not be able to find out if my 

birthday orgy will be happening. I then notice that 

there are about 15 shifts of overtime available due to 

fellow employees being either sick or missing. I sign 

up for one of them. I notice that the shift I 

requested off is not available for overtime. I call 

Murad from 10 feet away to find out the baseball score 

for him since we aren’t supposed to check ourselves, 

only for customers*. Cathy and Bill notice that they 

have worn the same sweatshirt. Cathy comments that she 

had a frozen ass last night I eat soup and old 

birthday cake. I hand Bill a birthday card for Stacy 

that I haven’t signed. Murad kicks boxes when he’s 

informed that they’ll be taking our stereo away for 2 


*No current customers 

11-12: Someone actually calls me on DTMF. It doesn’t 

work. I mention satellite error to customer. Murad 

comments on how I’m good at bullshitting. I call again 

to check the score for Murad. When asked if I would 

like anything else I request the weather in Sioux 

City, Iowa and everyone laughs. It must be hard to be 

me, always having to be the life of the party. Boohoo. 

My girlfriend Kirsten calls to say she’s had a 

nightmare and I talk to her for about 10 minutes. I 

tell her to have some herbal tea. I take 20-minute 

cigarette break. I go to Elaine’s* office. She’s on a 

personal phone call and ignores me. I wait for 5 

minutes, killing time reading the presidential 

calendar they have hanging up. I notice that we once 

had a President Chester Arthur. Elaine is still on the 

phone so I leave. I return to the room. The Internet 

is still down. 

*See employees that do nothing matrix 

12-1: Elaine stops in to ask what I needed. I tell her 

I wanted to see how many hours that I worked last 

week. She informs me that she can’t tell me because if 

she tells me then she’ll have to tell everybody and 

then there will be a line at her door. Bill comments 

after she leaves that it’s probably unlikely that 

there will be a line at her door at 1 am. Ray and 

Brenda have left for the evening. The four of us, but 

mainly Bill and I, discuss how this job has affected 

us. In between I work on Cathy’s resume. Bill says 

that the problem with things nowadays is that more 

disposable income is going to housing. He then tells 

me of a friend who has died from drinking too much. 

This man also had a job like us where we have a lot of 

down time. I think about how I drink too much. I 

acknowledge that I have a drinking problem. 

1-2: I fall back into denial about my drinking 

problem. I go make tea and then continue to work on 

Cathy’s resume. In between I take a break as do Murad 

and Bill at the same time. I return. I comment to 

Cathy that she used the word “interacted” on her 

resume implying that she has “interacted” with people 

at previous jobs. I cannot see how this is at all 

possible and tell her so. The Internet continues not 

to work. 

2-4 (Time becomes longer and thicker) Murad returns 

from a visit with Elaine and asks me if the company 

has been taking lunches out of my paycheck. I reply 

that I don’t know. He tells me that have for him and 

tells me that they need to be informed when we don’t 

take lunches so they can pay us for them. Since we 

have no one to inform payroll, the four of us get into 

a discussion and I write a letter to Meredith 

explaining how we want to be paid. Bill offers up the 

word bellwether to use in the letter. As our 

discussion continues though, I discover that we’re not 

of one mind. I get the vibe Bill thinks we shouldn’t 

mention it and bring attention to ourselves but Murad 

and Cathy think we should go for it. I can’t decide so 

I go smoke. I return. I think that it’s unlikely that 

they’ll go back over a year of pay stubs to check and 

see when we took lunches and that it just might 

aggravate an already stressed out managerial team. I 

save the letter though because it’s really well 

written. Included below is said letter… 

Dear Meredith: 

Murad paid a visit to Elaine’s office on Tuesday the 

19th of October after noticing on a punch history form 

he had had printed out that on each day a half-hour is 

being deducted for lunches. It is State law that 

employees take a 30-minute lunch break. If they don’t, 

it is and has been company policy that payroll needs 

to be notified on a daily basis of lunches not taken. 

This is what Elaine informed him of when he inquired 

as to such issue. None of us ever take lunches due to 

the fact that the cafeteria is closed and very little 

is opened and in my own personal situation, I have no 

transportation. On certain evenings, especially of 

late, it could even be argued that due to lack of 

staffing that it is unwise to leave the area for very 

long. When Ernie* was team leader he informed us that 

he was in fact informing payroll of lunches not taken. 

Whether or not this is true, we do not know. What is 

true is that recently we believe that lunches have 

been being taken out and that as far back as when 

Darrell* was team leader and before it and in-between 

it as well it is possible that this has been going on. 

Murad then mentioned during our conversation that 

Octavia had mentioned to him that she had received a 

retroactive check for lunchtime she had been deducted 

when she brought it to payrolls attention. We as a 

team feel that she is the bellwether for us, setting 

the standard since she has received payment for 

lunches not taken yet were deducted from her pay. We 

ask that this matter be directed to the proper 

channels and then addressed as soon as possible. 

*See former Team Leaders matrix 

Again, Bill has changed my mind when I’m overanxious 

and makes me see that it is better to remain hidden in 

a company where it’s bad to be noticed. I think if you 

want to be treated fairly that you need to work at a 

company where that is the “bellwether”. I still wonder 

though if I should at least mention it to Meredith and 

see what happens. I can’t decide and now feel tired. 

There is still no Internet. Bill is “resting his eyes” 

and Cathy is spinning. I think I’ll lie down. I need a 

chair for my feet. 

4-6 I fall asleep. I wake up at 5:30. I’ve been 

dreaming again. I can’t remember what about. I stand 

up and walk over to Cathy and inform her that I’m 

going to “take my lunch” which in she knows means I’m 

going up to the command center behind a wall to lie 

down on the floor and use my sweater for a pillow. I 

hold up both hands and 6 fingers signifying that I’d 

like her to wake me up in half an hour. I fall asleep 

and she wakes me up but when I stand up I have the 

most bloated painful gas feeling I’ve ever had. I 

reset the modem server an hour later than I should 


6-7 I wander outside and attempt to fart a lot. I run 

into Step* who is hacking up phlegm. We speak of Ernie 

and how he’s gone missing. He mentions again how fat 

Dorreen is. It is a favorite subject of his. He tells 

a joke about her driving to work with a steak on her 

engine and then using the oil and grit as BBQ sauce. 

He leaves and then I fart and belch for awhile and 

return inside and make a test call. Murad tells me 

that I should reset the modem server. Inside, I’m 

surprised by his act of responsibility towards the 

job. Peggy wanders in like a Weeble and starts 

speaking out loud to everyone about which terminal she 

will sit at. No one responds. I check the Internet and 

it’s working finally. 

*See bitter employee matrix 

7-8 I check my mail and see that neither of the women 

I’d written about the orgy has responded. Kara is 

online and I start chatting with her about the new 

couch she’s bought and how much work she has to do. 

Kristen calls to say she’ll be late. She’s always late 

but doesn’t usually call so I think this must mean 

she’s going to be really late. Murad approaches me 

about the lunch money issue. I say I’m still not sure. 

He convinces me though that I should at least speak to 

Meredith about it. Peggy continues to annoy us. Cathy 

leaves 5 minutes early as scheduled. Murad checks his 

personals mailbox on my computer but no one has 

written him either. A bad night for whoring. He 

returns to his desk and starts firing Peggy up by 

annoying her. She is now getting louder. I leave and 

go smoke but first give Bill a copy of this log up to 

now. Outside I ponder how we are all but God’s pawns. 

When I return, Catherine has showed up and says hello 

but strangely offers me no fruit. The phone up at the 

command center rings and I answer it. It’s Vidya, an 

IT person. She tells me that Auto Valet is going live 

and asks if anyone has told me. I answer (of course) 

no. She tells me some information and I hang up. Bill 

in the meantime has gotten a call. After he’s off the 

phone, he stands up and describes what a little shit 

the person is by describing what she is most likely 

like in real life. He tells Peggy. He keeps referring 

to her as a little shit or saying the words “little 

shit” over and over. Angel walks in. I give him his 

messages about Auto valet and Kristen. He holds up the 

pen I left here the other day that he had wanted to 

steal. Bill goes somewhere and passes by Kirsten (not 

Kristen) who looks tired again. Murad keeps asking me 

what I’m looking at when I look at him. Dorreen walks 

in. Oh boy! The whole gang is here; thank God it’s 

almost time to leave. Bill is returns to the room to 

pack up his stuff and leave but he can’t find his pen 

and is delayed by a conversation that whole team gets 

involved with about the pens we’ve owned. Kristen (not 

Kirsten shows up) and I say hello. 

8-8:30 Vidya shows up. Angel asks for a copy of this 

log. I hesitate knowing that if it were to fall into 

the wrong hands that everyone would hate me and I’d 

probably get fired. All of a sudden I get a call 

filled with a whining noise in my ear. I think I was 

supposed to go unavailable and let someone else get 

the call because it’s a test. I realize this when 

everyone shouts out loud at me and laughs. Assholes. I 

go unavailable. Angel starts talking about wrestling, 

which he tends to do. 15 more minutes make it end! 

There are too many people in this room and too little 

to do as usual. Murad asks for a copy of the log. I 

decide to lie to both he and Angel and not send it to 

them. Not yet anyway. Julie walks in looking foxy as 

usual. I tell Angel that there is a card for Stacy. He 

says that I should sign it. I hate ITS birthdays. I 

realize that the log has become long-winded and to 

stop. I have learned nothing looking back on it. Each 

night is another like the one before and like the one 

that will happen tomorrow. Meaningless and stupid if 

you think that this place is your life but okay if you 

realize it’s just a job. I stop at 8:24. 

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