What His Desk Thinks About At Night

He and his missus have lived in this room over a year, and he still hasn’t cleaned me. Just dumps all his crap on my head, like I’m some sort of shelf. Hey, bozo, I’m here to be worked on! Not once has he cleared any stuff off, not once. He could use his laptop on me – the guy is on the computer, like, all the time – or use me for his writing, or use me for anything productive…but no, he just lies on his ass in bed and does all his business in a reclined state. Lazy bastard.

There is so much extraneous rubbish on me, I’m not exaggerating; spray cans, tights, flags, a microphone his mot got him for Christmas – still in its box, natch – and a board just covered with detritus from his incredibly boring life. That’s just the crud on top; there’s a massive heap of clothes underneath! What have I done to deserve this cruel fate? The layer of dust I have accumulated at this point is so thick that you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it. I feel so, so, so…filthy.

Please. Somebody. Anybody. Get this asshole to give me a once over, for the love of God!

My desperation is truly…indeskcribable.

Sorry.

Solidarity, brothers & sisters…

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About Seba Roux

Gooner, Socialist, Historian, Slacker. That's pretty much all you need to know.
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