A Comedy of Telepathy

I feel like a Quisling.

Who did you betray?

You think I’m a traitor? Jackass!

But that’s what a

He means the sub place on the corner.

Okay, what on Earth does that feel like?

That I can’t answer.

Its just when I have a bit too much to drink, I feel, I don’t know, more edible.

That statement is entirely disturbing. For one thing TMI, for another why did you come to work drunk?

It takes the edge off.

Really, he’s a much better at accounts receivable man with Wild Turkey.

Good lord, can we please get back to the matter of the budget?

I don’t really know. This is all kind of distracting. I’m a bit lost.

Ditto on that.

I’ll admit I’m sort of imagining Jerry with melted provolone.

Dude, you’re my boss, don’t eat me.

Phil, not to be a buzzkill but how much did you pay for this rig?

Four grand, why?

So, you’re first use for the first generation telepathic networking equipment you bought was a meeting with the subject “Practicality and Economy”.

Jim you are a buzzkill. Time for lunch, log off.

Within forty seconds of logging off, Phillip Swinford was out of the conference room, four thousand dollar piece of crap in hand. He would get a refund, this he knew. Jeremy Stevens and James Conroy left for the sub shop to get three hot roast beef subs with provolone. The three would call this sandwich from then on the Jerry. No one else would understand why.

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