The Virus

“And what seems to be the problem, sir?” the technical support person said.

“Well, your virus didn’t install properly,” the man said.

“Well, sir, do you have any anti-virus software?”

“I think so,” the man said.

“You’ll have to disable or uninstall it before our virus will install,” tech support said.

“Oh, duh,” the man said.

“That’s OK, sir. If you’d like, I can stay on the line with you and guide you through uninstalling or disabling your anti-virus software.”

“That’d be great,” the man said.

The technical support person walked the man through disabling his anti-virus software and helped the man install the virus. It was easier than he thought.

“This is my first virus,” the man said. “I was telling my wife that this morning. We’re both pretty excited about it.”

“I can imagine, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, that’s it, thanks.”

“Well, if you’d be so kind as to go online and fill out our support satisfaction survey, it would be a great help to me. I’ll send you a link.”

“Sure, I’ll do that. You provided great support.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” the tech support person said. “Have a nice day.”

“Bye,” the man said. He hung up. “Dad, your computer is all set,” he yelled toward the living room.

“Thanks, Kiddo,” his dad yelled back.

Stop Laughing

Ethan’s parents liked to laugh at him. They would stop by and comment on his life and laugh. Ethan lived in a small one-bedroom apartment in Belle Pointe Apartments near the interstate. His apartment was cluttered, probably a reflection of Ethan’s ongoing depression and social anxiety and the self-hatred that came from dealing with his depression and social anxiety. He wished he could be outgoing and popular like his parents, but he’d rather spend time alone with his thoughts and papers and books.

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Kidney Donor

I found my kidney on the kitchen counter. There was also a note. “Jen, I don’t want your fucking kidney,” it read. It was from Lindsey, my on-and-off-again girlfriend who swore far too much.

I immediately picked up the phone and called her. “Take my damn kidney, you stupid moron,” I said. “You need it.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t need it. I don’t want anything from you,” she said.

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Body Parts in the Mail

One day, Ian noticed a severed foot in his mailbox. The foot was sitting on his mail. It was sitting on his Chase credit card bill and his Dollar Saver ad. He wasn’t sure what to do with the foot or whom to tell. Because Ian didn’t know what to do, he panicked and carried the foot back to his apartment.

Several people noticed the creepy guy in apartment F-2017 carrying a foot around the parking lot. A woman who lived two doors down from Ian saw him. She had been getting into her car. She wrote the date and time and, “Guy from apartment F-2017 with foot,” in the notebook she carried around in her purse.

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Before the Boys of Mr. Vandermast’s Fourth Period Health Class at Robert J. Dole Senior High School: Dr. Chapwick’s Last Talk

Mr. Vandermast stood in front of his fourth period health class. “OK, boys, we now would like to welcome Dr. Chapwick from the university to talk to you about masturbation.” The boys in the class began giggling. “Boys, please.” He held up his hands. “Dr. Chapwick is a world-renowned psychotherapist who has studied human sexuality for over forty years.” He shook Dr. Chapwick’s hand. “Welcome, Dr. Chapwick.”

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Mustache

Back to work. My vacation is over, and, crap, I’m back at work. I stop in the kitchen at work to get some coffee. That’s the only thing that keeps me awake at this boring-as-hell job. My job uses something like one brain cell. It is so beneath me. At my job, I’m like a car with only one cylinder firing. Or something like that, whatever.

“Welcome back. How was the coast? That’s where you went, the coast?” Rick says. He’s this guy I work with. He’s OK, not too annoying. He’s reading the paper and drinking coffee.

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Please No Swimming during Corporate Swim Fun ’10

We’re thinking about swimming. We’re all standing around the pool looking at each other. It’s a game of wills: Which employees will crack first and actually expose their sorry-ass bodies to us, their supportive coworkers? Probably Jim in sales will be first. Then that receptionist who comes in on Thursdays.

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