Sometimes it's fine being the Company Man, to trade in newsroom shackles and an Abercrombie belt-buckle slap on the pale white palm of modern societal complacency for a fleeting memory of weekend bliss draped loosely in high school lust and senior center lunacy and all the things we take for granted at 3pm on a breezy Sunday afternoon. Then other days you want to just scream "two tears in a bucket fuck it" this is not the Lie-Lie-Life I planned to live and all you crave is the bullet-like motorcycle from Judas Priest's "Turbo Lover" video to crash into your desk and take you away at a billion miles an hour through Halford Heavens and freely upon open roads of youthful destiny. I want to jump through the fucking computer screen on days like this. Calgon can't even hang.
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