Ramblingcrow - Rambling Crow

And acrylic, clear, platform, stripper heels. Seriously. Everyone should have at least one pair. Ideally more.

You really are very good at these! Education, silicon, ID

Nellie was exhausted, after her final exam in sex technique and “flair”, but her day at the Exec2Sec Retraining School was not yet over.  She still had to report for her breast implants.  She’d been told during her first day that she would be going from a B to a double D, and she’d bought a 36DD bra and put a pair of water balloons in it to help her get used to them.

As Nellie sat, weary and disgusted and slightly loopy from the Valium she had been given to prepare her for surgery, she looked at the other woman, all of them also high on Valium, some even smiling.

A nurse in a ridiculously short white uniform and tiny white cap stuck her head out the door, saying, “Next!”

It was Nellie’s turn, so she wobbled to her feet, holding her heels in one hand because she knew she could never walk in heels while this stoned.  She stood aside to let the previous patient stagger out, careful not to brush against her no-doubt-tender new jugs.

She saw the surgeon washing up, for which she was grateful, took off her top and bra, took out the water balloons which she knew would be replaced by essentially the same thing, only underneath her skin.  She put a foot on the pedal of the wastebasket and was sickened to see bloody paper inside, but shook herself and continued to the table.

She looked on a sterile tray by the doctor’s hand and saw the rounded implants she had expected but also some small objects that looked like computer chips.

“Uh, Doctor, what are those flat gray things there?”

“Silicon chips,” he said flatly.  “They’ll help your bosses keep track of you.  I think they can even page you, but I’m not sure about that.  They just told me to put a chip underneath every implant we do.  Now, give our patient a little gas, won’t you, Suzie?”

The nurse lowered a rubber mask over Nellie’s mouth and nose and the world soon disappeared.

Still amazing! Handwriting, decor, perception.

[Hah, trying to stump me, are you?]

Nadine looked up from her struggle to decipher her boss’s handwriting – if it stumped the scanner’s software, you knew it was some serious henscratching – and looked around the office.

She’d rather be sitting at a desk out in front of what had once been her office, or even in the glaringly pink steno pool, but Frank preferred to keep her at her “perch”, as he liked to put it, in the corner.

I suppose “perch” is appropriate, since I’m basically being kept here are a pet….

He still used her old desk.  He’d replaced her black desktop with a bright red laptop with the USMC emblem (on the strength of the company having a military contract, not because he had ever served himself).

Unlike me – I paid for college with my Airman’s salary.

Company lawyers had persuaded a judge that her degrees and award certificates were “office decor” and therefore company property, so that she couldn’t reclaim them.  He had already used up her Bachelor’s and her Master’s, so now it was an award the manufacturers’ association had given her that he had placed at the center of his dartboard.

He’d have destroyed them a lot faster if he’d placed them below and to the right of the bullseye … .

If your girlfriend doesn't suck your cock, I will 😘

A new desktop background for those girls who need it. It is a little tame, however. Would love to know if anyone has something better for the bimbos in their life.

Brilliant! And no, if I was trying to stump you I would say something like: pigtails, plastic, dumber.

Every time Barbara ties her pigtails with those plastic clips I gave her, she absorbs another dose of the drug that is making her dumber.

No, that’s much too easy.  I can do better than that.

Barbara didn’t actually mind putting her hair in pigtails.  Back when she was a market analyst, she had to wear the corporate uniform, including a high-maintenance ‘do.  She envied the technicians in the back rooms, who could dress as they please.

She was still forced to abide by a dress code, but it was actually less of a hassle, since it was basically the same outfit every time: sort of a Swiss dairy maid, hair in pigtails, smile and makeup mandatory.

She didn’t mind showing off her legs, or her cleavage.  “Eh, you deal with it,” she often said.  What did bother her were the platform heels of transparent plastic.  How the fuck did Mr. Bickford think they went with a minidirndl?  She never questioned it, she just wore them.

When she got to her desk, she found a package on her desk.  It proved to be a bizarre assortment of Japanese products, plus a “Golden Brown” membership card at The Sun Spot tanning salon, and a note stuck on the cover of a glossy pamphlet.  The note said Mr. Bickford wanted her to start wearing Ganguro makeup.

It was just about the only thing that could possibly have made her look dumber.