The Enigma Protocols. Put u lunchables in the basket, pls.

I was drinking a dollar Mtn Dew 20-ouncer at lunch break, googling Crystal's buttocks.  Crystal was at the Sam's Choice machine, and I was of course, twisting like a gymnast, unaware of anything but her ass.

The department manager watched me, like he was taking notes.  It was like some other stuff around me in that place: I knew I would hear about it later.  They would make sure that I did, however innocent the reference; though most commonly the reference was derisive and mean.

Or do I mean "ogling", or "ogre-ing"?

I was a single man, resigned to do nothing with any of those goons in that building, but definitely willing to glimpse on one of them, like get my shine on right proper.

Anyway.  The DM couldn't mack on her like I could, because he had sort of "gainfully employed playboy" image, where I was like a dang magician or something: an enigma.

Later, of the same girl, I noted to a group of coworkers as she walked by that I had the desire to wash her hair in a bathtub.  The youngest, Muhammed, got like saucer-sized eyes, like I caught him flat-footed with that comment, and he had no idea how to react.