That's the sound of a’me… workin’ on the chain…gang.I am entirely sick of work… I’m here at the hospital over 40 hours a week and I cannot bear it any longer. I am sitting on the edge of a three-foot desk threatening to jump. No one can hear my screams over that crazy guy in T602… I just had to make him a cup of coffee with “three sugars and cream…now.” Excuse me, but I’m a monitor tech, not your [poor, poor] wife. I was thinking of stabbing myself with my E.K.G. calipers, but they only go into my flesh about 0.5” and that would just hurt like hell, not injure my pericardium. I was thinking of chewing so much 32 degree ice chips to send myself into hypothermia, but I’ve been living in a 52 degree house all winter and just thinking about it makes my nipples hard [and not in a good way]. There are ten defibrillators I was in charge of checking two days ago [they all work] with which I could just shock myself with…hmm, ten multiplied by 200 joules…2 kilojoules of electricity might be entertaining. Yes, I believe that’s what I’ll do right nnoooOWSJABZNZZZ ZZZZZZXJHHBZ ZZZZAAAATTTTTttttTTTTTT!
What’s that smell?
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