Times were tight.
EBITDA was way the fuck down, and the LinkPig had only 10 minutes left in his lunch break. Going forward through midtown foot traffic, he felt a jag of pain with each step. It was his anus; a large
tranche had been lodged there ever since last week's "all hands" meeting. "
CAGR," LinkPig muttered, "Must achieve CAGR for 2004E, 2005E and 2006F."
A bike messenger (human/female) cut through the crowded crosswalk, startling the LinkPig from his fiduciary revery.
"Not exactly what I would call best practices," he thought, glaring after her fast-diminishing form.
He briefly yearned to commit an act of shocking vigilantism, but the LinkPig's superpowers were no good outside UBS headquarters' protective, life-giving exoskeleton. And then, the female's powerful, throbbing hams agitated old LP's loins, haunting them for hours to come, until, at 6:55 PM, having successfully graphed a particularly complex
backdoor listing, the LinkPig clocked out on an ergo break and deposited a hot batch of his own Paste Special into the still,
Sanor-Systemed waters of the men's lavatory.
P.S. I can't fucking log on Disney!
Love, Maniacs