As I paced the walkway thru the endless aisles of waist-high cubicles, I could hear, see, and feel the tapping of cramped fingers as they endlessly pounded the keys on their plastic boards of imprisonment. The hours have grown long, the air stale as hope slowly diminishes to once an eager dream but now a sad failure. At that moment, when the ray of hope slid to the dark side of disappointment, a young man shouted from his cubicle of confinement, screaming “Sir, I’ve got it!” I hurriedly raced towards the young man, Johnson was his name, and asked “are you sure?” He stood there shaking, pale, exhausted, as he looked into my eyes of disbelief and coldly stated “yes sir, I have found it”. As we both gaze down into the beautiful collection of images painted across his computer screen, I saw that it was true. He had found it, that which we have searched for achingly for weeks, months, even years; the naked pictures of Beatrice Arthur. I looked into Johnson’s eyes as I placed my hand on his cold shoulder, and said “my God son, you have done it.”, and as he gazed into my eyes, he sighed with relief. He had found it at last.
The little honey bunny she come up to me