The Riddler isn’t in today. Unfortunately, he forgot that he scheduled a meeting with our FedEx sales rep, who stopped by to try solving our problems this morning. He went away visibly frustrated. (As an aside, I feel bad for this poor guy. Whatever commission he’s making on this contract, it can’t be enough.)

But behold - later in the day, a UPS salesman dropped in with some sales paraphenalia.

I found myself unable to resist documenting the points of his pitch and passing the sales collateral and key messages along to the Riddler’s empty chair. I’m fascinated to see how he’ll respond. Will he flip-flop again? Engage in another round of dry-humping with an unsuspecting salesperson? Stay the course?

The HPDEB called me a sadistic bastard for this one. His assessment is fairly accurate.

Commentary

I think you are becoming addicted to the pain. Don’t let the Riddler become your reason for being. You have a lot of other things going for you.
- Shuh (anonymously)

Who’a’you?
- GHC

Who, me? Why, I am the spewer of salty jets of man-gravy. I am he who sneaks stealthily, and slits mine enemy middle-wise. I am one that knows the gauge of the Riddler’s felt-tipped pen, and has felt the weight of his line. It was me that suffered most the fetid fume of the B.O. sub; he that appeared most often in the tiny eye of “getting-married”’s backwards watch on the world. I had my prostate examined by the Teabag, and lo, it was found wanting. I was there when the Riddler offered to TUNE-UP the world, and then witnessed his retreat to the tender embraced of his Aeron chair, there to be met by Morpheus himself, and like Little Nemo, set out to face the daily horrors of slumberland. I have seen the camel toe. I have thrown it before the Rook and yelled unto him, meow, and upon his picking up of five cards of fate, I was the one to ask him not to find sustenance in them, but rather to not be a rocked-up choad, and so fugly. I, like you, have felt the tender touch of the Sidler’s breeze and to wake with him by my side, confused, nauseous, and likely without undergarment, anus pressed, like a squashed anemone nearly to my desk, said movable saved only by a thin layer of denim. We were separated by and artificial division, but united by an ethernet cable (and hate, yes). I am he that shall not be named. I am the beginning and the end. And some of the middle.
- Shuh