I AM SO TIRED.
TELL ME ABOUT IT. I AM LITERALLY JUST EXHAUSTED, YOU KNOW?
WORN RIGHT OUT.
POOPED. THAT’S WHAT I AM. JUST PLAIN POOPED.
I MUST HAVE LOOKED AT A HUNDRED THOUSAND AVENGERS GIFS IN THE LAST HOUR.
OH MY GOD, I KNOW. I CAN’T EVEN COUNT THE NUMBER OF GOTYE REMIXES I LISTENED TO TODAY.
THE INTERNET IS HARD.
IT TAKES SOMETHING OUT OF YOU. IT REALLY DOES.
I’M GOING TO SHOOT STRAIGHT WITH YOU BECAUSE WE’RE FRIENDS. SOMETIMES WHILE YOU’RE SLEEPING I READ YOUR LITTLE DIARY OR JOURNAL OR WHATEVER THAT IS.
… I CAN’T SAY I APPROVE OF YOUR SEXUAL PROCLIVITIES, NOR YOUR DESCENT INTO FREAKISHLY DETAILED FANFICTION, BUT IF YOU COULD SOMEHOW GET THAT TO BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH’S PEOPLE I BET THEY’D THINK ABOUT FILMING IT. YOU’RE A HELL OF A WRITER, ERIK. THAT’S GRIPPING STUFF.
WHAT AM I DOING IN HERE, TENNISON? QUITE SIMPLE, REALLY. I OWN THIS DRAWER, LIKE I OWN THIS COMPANY, AND I WILL OCCUPY WHATEVER PORTION OF THE COMPANY I FEEL LIKE, WHENEVER I FEEL LIKE, AND UNLESS YOU CAN FIND ‘EXPLAINING MY ACTIONS TO SLACKJAWED, BUNGLING ACCOUNT EXECUTIVES’ SOMEWHERE ON MY C.V. I SUGGEST YOU SIT DOWN AT THAT DESK I GRACIOUSLY ALLOW YOU TO HAVE AND STOP WASTING MY TIME WITH YOUR BABBLE. IF I WANTED TO BE DISAPPOINTED BY YOUR SEMI-COHERENT RAMBLING I’D CALL A SALES MEETING.
NOW WHERE ARE THOSE REPORTS I ASKED FOR?
STOP LOOKING AROUND, YOU TIT. I’M SITTING ON THEM. HOW DID YOU GET THIS JOB? AM I YOUR FATHER? DO YOU HAVE BLACKMAIL PHOTOS OF ME? CAN YOU EVEN READ, TENNISON?
I’M GOING TO GO DOWN TO 14 AND SLEEP IN THE 11”X17” PAPER TRAY IN THE COPY ROOM. I’LL BE BACK AT 3 AND I EXPECT YOU’LL HAVE THE SECOND QUARTER PROJECTIONS COMPLETED AND FAXED OVER TO MARTY.
