"Like N for Nellie?"
"Right and like I was thinking when we pick that word, like today I'm like Wattlesworth: W-A-T-T--yes, T that's T for...tadpole, like that right I was thinking was that a Freudian thing?"
"You mean..."
"Did I hesitate to say something obvious like Tom, or Tugboat, because I was like sexually into the woman on the phone?"
"And were you?"
"She sounded like a prize."
"And.."
"Like did she feel it as well?"
"Did she feel your preference for tadpoles over men named Tom and or tugboats?"
"Ho-ho Dick Cynical, don't mind me while I'm here trying to dig up on a real thing."
"Dick Cynical. Straight up."
You'd been peering over the cubicle for a good ten minutes as these two took turns on the paper shredder and really between the three of you it was a close choice. It was the second Friday of the month and you knew full well what that meant but somehow their conversation had drawn you in as a passive observer, and it was really the passive nature of your activity, just idling there for a good ten minutes while these two, while doing next-to-nothing--still they were shredding paper--they'd set you up (whether intentionally or not, you would never find out) and bursting through the strawboard ceiling panel busting a perfect square like that from a chessboard, a good three meters of a tentacle uncurls then just the end of it re-curls around your neck jolting you up into the ceiling, and now besides the hole and the remnants of straw, there is no longer any evidence of you having come in at all. The sounds of your choking struggle hidden under blades agitated furiously through pulp, and the other too close-to-call candidates cross a glance contemplating just for a moment the eyes watching them over the next fortnight.
