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Posted 2008-12-15, 03:20 PM
He walked in, eyes darting to and fro, nipples hard enough to slice diamonds in half. He gazed at the young red headed hostess and said "Table for one." She apathetically reached into the bucket of silverware, grabbing a singular set for the roid rage waiting to happen.

He sat at a table in the dark corner, glaring over the menu, thinking back to a simpler time. Yes, simpler. A time before the protein shakes, a time before the creatine and steroids, oh those simple times before he, Dan, would go to gym every day, donning his mother's muumuus and wings so no one could identify him. He is, nay was, an out-of-shape computer programmer and programmers don't go to the gym!

A sweet, blonde haired waitress mosied up to the table to take his order.

"Water and two oven roasted turkey salads. Ranch. And be prompt lest I gouge your eyes out with my nips." he responded.

Mortified, yet intrigued, the frumpy blonde waitress ran off to fill the order.

God, the power of my nips on people! he thought to himself, hands secretly rubbing creatine on his melon sized calves. The secret to getting his nipples was through top secret scientific transvestitic experimentations. And extreme cold.

The food arrived within five minutes and Dan wolfed it down with enough fury and speed that made the windows rattle. A child, frightened by the specatcle, began to cry. This all pleased Dan very much. The waitress soon dropped off his check and wished him happy holidays.

"Happy holidays," he said with an icy cold stare, "You mean Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, of course! That's what I really meant!" the waitress said with notable fear in her voice. She was still afraid of the possible eye gouging with his nipples.

Dan took the check and sped up to the cashiers, accidentally stomping a small midget named Barney O'Doule in his wake.

Upon making it to the register, he paid his check, making no banter with the wonderful, voluptuous female cashier. He then marched to the clearance corner, his nipples cutting the displays in half. Upon seeing nothing of worth, he left in a huff, his calves and biceps on the verge of exploding, something he knew the 'roids would do.

Much akin to an action star, he dove into his car, tearing the nice leather seats a bit. There he began to ponder his existence a bit, but then he downed some roids, adujsted himself in the seat and drove off, killing many innocent pedestrians with his blue Miata, the roid rage taking over.

Moral of the story: Don't let me have too much free time at work.

THE END
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