My name is Johnny Carsweeper.  Contrary to what my last name may or may not indicate, I do not sweep cars.  Today on my way to work I passed a school bus full of children.  They were all jumping around and throwing things I’m assuming they didn’t want out of their lunch boxes.  The bus driver had headphones on and was trying very hard to pretend that she wasn’t making a living driving school buses.  I chuckled to myself as I listened to Murray and Murray and Phalmington on the radio.
         I work in a cubicle.  I am a temporary technical assistant to manager of managerial technicalities involving the transfer of air molecules between complex B and complex A.  I’m not exactly what the job entails, even though I’ve been doing it for about five months.  All I know is that I get to play solitaire on my computer all day and that I get a check for $300.00 every week.
         By the way, I live in my car.
         Today when I got to my cubicle (cubicle #157AB33delta), there was a note pinned to a section of the wall not covered in Dilbert comics.
Not that I could afford newspapers, though, I printed all of these off.  No one seemed to care what we printed off at Megalom Corp. (that’s the name of the organization for which I work).  I remember someone printing off a novel on a previous day, and just the other day someone was printing off a giant color poster of Britnee Speerz.
        Anyway, back to the note I found.  It said this:
                     Johnny!
            I just found out they have a spot open for a permanent technical assistant to manager of managerial
            technicalities involving the transfer of air molecules between complex B3 and complex F.  Only one other
            person has applied for the position, his name is Phil Pennington.  He’s a pretty sharp guy, so you’ve
            got some competition going.
                                                                                            Good luck! 
                                                                                       
                                                                                            Mel Appeloog
         This was news!  I knew I was going to be moving up in the world, but I didn’t think it would be this soon!  Maybe I would find out why Megalom Corp. is so interested in the transfer of air molecules between different parts of the building.  The first thing I had to do, though, was find a way to discredit Phil Pennington or simply do away with him.  I needed this job.
         Step one: find Phil Pennington.  I logged onto the Megalom Corp. Employee Directory and looked him up.  He was in the cubicle across from me.
         Step two: establish the conflict.  I sent him an anonymous e-mail that said, “I’m getting the job and you aren’t.”
         Step three: wait.
         I heard Phil Pennington’s computer in the next cubicle say, “You’ve got mail!  Isn’t that terrific?”
I heard a few clicks and then some typing.  Then my computer said, “You’ve got mail!  Go stick your head in a jet engine!”  I had changed the “you’ve got mail” sound on my computer.
        My e-mail said, “Correction:  I’m getting the job.  Who the hell are you?”
        I sent one back that said, “I’m getting the job because you suck and I don’t.”
        Phil Pennington sent one back that said, “You’re in the cubicle across from me, aren’t you?”
        “Yes.”
        “Would you care to take this elsewhere?”
        “Yes.  Meet me by the printer.”  But I knew better.  I was setting him up.  I made a document in Macrofleshy Words that said “Phil Pennington Sucks!” in really big, fancy letters.  I had the printer print off about twenty or eighty or so copies.  I eventually heard Phil Pennington arrive back at his computer with a lot of paper.
        I got another e-mail.  It said: “You’re a son of a bitch.”
        I sent one back that said, “but I’m still getting the job.”
        He sent one back that said, “Yeah?”
        “Yeah!”
        “You really think so?”
        “I do.  And you suck.”
        “What makes you think you’re more qualified than me?  You’re acting like an eight-year-old.”
        “I live in my car.”
        “I’m sorry.”
        “A sorry bastard!”
        “Why are you being so rude?  Why don’t you want to talk in person?”
        “Because I don’t like talking to people that suck.”
        “Listen, if you really want the job, just say so and I’ll back off.  There are plenty of other jobs I could get in this building.”
        “Yeah, like what?  Official guy that sucks?”
        “What’s your problem anyway?”
        “You’re my problem.  You’re an obstacle.  You lie in my path.  I must destroy.”
        “I already said I’ll back off if you want me to.  Now why don’t you leave me alone?”
        “Because I’m very lonely.”
        “Well, maybe you should try talking to people in person then.”
        “Maybe you should shut up!”
        “Look, I’ve got other things to do.”
        “Yeah, like what?”
        “Well………I’m sure there’s something that’s got to be done around here.”
        “Like sucking?”
        “OK.  I’ve had enough of this.  I’m not talking to you anymore.  Go find someone else to bother.”
        And that was it.  I had sought.  I had fought.  I had destroyed.  I was victorious and I would become permanent technical assistant to manager of managerial technicalities involving the transfer of air molecules between complex B3 and complex F.  Phil Pennington was the loser and I the victor.
 
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