Infallible Satire
11-04-2005, 19:49
(Written by the Nation Formerly Known As Plutophobia.)
It was a cold afternoon near the beginning of April. I sat in my office, filing papers. A chilling wind breathed through the documents and forms that lay on my desk. I reached over and clasped the window shut, morbid light from a dead sky cascading across the floor. My watch began to beep, reminding me it was lunch break. And so, I pulled out the plastic lunch pail, withdrawing a salami sandwich, which I clumsily shoved in my gullet.
Then, suddenly, I came across something on the computer which made me sick to my stomach. I spat my lunch into the aluminum trashcan, the bittersweet taste of rye bread and mustard lingering in my mouth. Sulking over to my boss's door, I told him the news. He gasped, color leaving his withering face, like juice being sucked dry from a lush, fruity pulp. Shortly afterwards, he repeated the message over the intercom and the company's morale sunk to an all-time low, as we all left early. Walking to my car, I saw numerous saddened faces, full of self-doubt, and others with piercing gazes of intolerable disgust. I worried about what the world would think, hoping that they didn't react with hatred or violence.
On the drive home, I angrily punched the dashboard, shouting, "Why, God, why?! How can you be so cruel?!"
As I got near my home, that fury turned into despair, however, as I sighed deeply and dragged my heavy legs towards the door, hobbling like a man who'd just been suckerpunched. I told my wife and kids what happened, then hugged them. I told them I wanted to be left alone for a while and my wife gave me that silent nod which told me she understood. I went into the living room and sat down on the couch, staring at the blank television screen, hearing my family weep from across the hall.
"They deleted me on NationStates! How could they do this?! Those bastards!" I shouted.
It took me many years to recover from the tragic incident. To this day, I burst out in tears, whenever it is mentioned.
It was a cold afternoon near the beginning of April. I sat in my office, filing papers. A chilling wind breathed through the documents and forms that lay on my desk. I reached over and clasped the window shut, morbid light from a dead sky cascading across the floor. My watch began to beep, reminding me it was lunch break. And so, I pulled out the plastic lunch pail, withdrawing a salami sandwich, which I clumsily shoved in my gullet.
Then, suddenly, I came across something on the computer which made me sick to my stomach. I spat my lunch into the aluminum trashcan, the bittersweet taste of rye bread and mustard lingering in my mouth. Sulking over to my boss's door, I told him the news. He gasped, color leaving his withering face, like juice being sucked dry from a lush, fruity pulp. Shortly afterwards, he repeated the message over the intercom and the company's morale sunk to an all-time low, as we all left early. Walking to my car, I saw numerous saddened faces, full of self-doubt, and others with piercing gazes of intolerable disgust. I worried about what the world would think, hoping that they didn't react with hatred or violence.
On the drive home, I angrily punched the dashboard, shouting, "Why, God, why?! How can you be so cruel?!"
As I got near my home, that fury turned into despair, however, as I sighed deeply and dragged my heavy legs towards the door, hobbling like a man who'd just been suckerpunched. I told my wife and kids what happened, then hugged them. I told them I wanted to be left alone for a while and my wife gave me that silent nod which told me she understood. I went into the living room and sat down on the couch, staring at the blank television screen, hearing my family weep from across the hall.
"They deleted me on NationStates! How could they do this?! Those bastards!" I shouted.
It took me many years to recover from the tragic incident. To this day, I burst out in tears, whenever it is mentioned.