Sorry this is kind of lengthy but they don't call me Brian LONG for nothing...hopefully this story is better than that joke:


Demolition

Robert opened his orange, green, and white lawn chair onto the hot sidewalk. The sun's heat was causing the pavement to boil, it was hot enough to cook an egg or whatever cliche you prefer. This would not stop Robert from enjoying this moment; he sat in the chair with his red cooler by his side. He stared at his toes that were sticking out from his sandals that left tan lines of various shapes on his feet, as he worked his lower body into the ass-grove that he had spent years forming in the chair he pulled two cans of beer out of his cooler and placed them in the holders on the sides of his novelty hat. Beer dribbled from his mouth as he drank from the tube connected to the cans on his hat staining his "Ed's Lamb Ribs Shack" t-shirt. He checked the battery of his video camera and made sure he hat set the alarm of his wristwatch correctly.

About three blocks from Robert's chair was Staple Factory. Founded by William Staple in 1908 Staple Factory was the city's leading supplier of paperclips. The irony of the name was lost on its founder due to his notorious lack of a sense of humor which was as often been cited as the cause of his second divorce. Recently the Staple factory had fallen on hard times due to the controversial redesign of their product which caused a local nursing home resident to suffer a heart attack because of his inability to handle change to the quote: "one thing that had been a constant in his life" due to the stipulations of the lawsuit we can not reveal anymore details of what followed but the factory was closed and the city decided to tear it down in the most dramatic of metropolitan ways: an implosion.

Robert eagerly checked his watch every few moments, he was a former disgruntled employee of Staple Factory. He hated the buzzing lights, he hated his co-workers, he hated his cubicle which was the furthest from the windows and the closest to the coffee machine which sounded like a rusty rake scrapping against a chalkboard. His official position was quality control manager, a job which basically meant filling out reports and mailing surveys to clients but the quality control supervisor would always force Robert to do his jobs. So, once at the beginning of the week he would visit the factory, watch the workers as they watched the machines bend each paperclip into its appropriate form and then write a report on his findings which was due at the end of each week. When he received word of the factory's closing he silently walked out into the parking lot and proceeded to yell at the top of his lungs in what can only be described as tongues.

The high beep of Robert's watch snapped him into focus, he turned on his video camera and pointed it and focused on blue sign that read "Staple"

"This is gonna be good," he said to himself. The countdown rang throughout the city like a voice from the heavens.

5...4...3...2...1

The thundering boom knocked Robert out of his chair, he looked up in time to see the building being swallowed in a cloud dust.

"YAHOO!!" he cried as he leaped to his feet and then took off towards the blast site faster than a child chasing an ice cream truck driven by Santa. He reached the fences surrounding the wreckage in a manner of seconds. Standing near the gate was his friend Al from the blast crew when he saw Robert running towards him he opened the fence and waved his friend inside.

"Alright man make this quick then get outta here," Al said.

"Al, you're a wonderful human being!" Robert had made a sacred promise the day he discovered that the building was being demolished and thanks to the help of Al he would be able to fulfill it. He climbed a pile of wreckage wearing a white breathing mask until he found the blue "Staple" sign.

"Here's to 20 miserable years," he said. Robert unzipped his fly and urinated on the big blue "S"

Robert awoke the following to the sound of a knocking at his door. Severely hungover and wearing nothing but leopard print which he wore during, as he put it, "prime party hours." He crawled out of bed, stop at his washer machine, threw up in it, and then opened the door.

"Good afternoon sir," a delivery man handed Robert a fruit basket with an envelope attached. Robert drew an illegible scribble on the delivery man's clipboard for a signature and walked into his kitchen. He opened the card that read: "For twenty years of faithful service." In the card was a large severance package check which Robert folded up and placed in the elastic of his underwear. He stared at the fruit basket, feeling what he assumed was sadness that he could never return to the office he began to miss, to the smiling faces that greeted him when he entered the building, and the pleasant soothing sound of the coffee machine. He unfolded the check and saw that it was made out to William, his supervisor. Robert placed the basket on the ground and did what he always did when things seemed like they couldn't get any worse: he took a piss.