Tonight is our company's holiday party. It's been sort of a pain in the ass to put together. And a lot of it has involved me showing up at CPT Dick's office yelling about needing something or other from him so I can get everything done in time. So not so much fun all around.
And of course, whenever you have an event of this size, there are always going to be those little last-minute, ass-chomping things that come up a few hours before go time. This morning was no exception. And so, I wandered into CPT Dick's office before I went to the gym to make sure that he could get these things done for me.
He glared a bit as I told him what I needed, then looked at me thoughtfully, and said, "That sports bra is way too small for your boobs."
I looked down. "No, it's not. It's just the right size for my boobs. Especially if my boobs are going to run."
"No. I can hear your boobs. They are screaming, screaming for freedom! They are saying, 'please, in the name of all that's holy, let me out, let me free!'"
"Oh, I see. Some sort of boob Morse code, eh?"
"Yes, they are staging a coup for freedom."
I just wanted to get to the gym at this point (and stop the discussion about my boobs) so I point-blank asked him, "So are you going to do what I asked or what?"
"I don't know. Are you going to set your poor boobs free?"
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