Archive-name: Humour/complab.txt
Archive-author: RICHH
Archive-title: Computer Lab


       At the time I thought he didn't notice me<Wishful
thinking?>.  Later I found that just the opposite was true<in his
basement, he had made a kind of voodoo shrine to me, and my picture
was on his coathangers, plus, he wanted his TWO DOLLARS!>. I had
been watching him for maybe two months trying to decide what it was
about him that made my hormones go wild<Yes, they would all line up
and kick like the Rockettes.>. When seated next to him I got so wet
that I was worried about leaving a stain on the chair<later I
realized that it was just my cigar-smoke that had triggered the
sprinkler above my desk...>.  I had read about pheromone in
relation to animals, but never thought that people were subject to
the same influences<Cause I'm just a silly leetle girl.  I could
*never* make a connection like *tha-at*  Hee.  Wanna see my
underwear?>.
       Why we frequently found ourselves in such close proximity
was another story<Does this mean what I think it means...?>.  The
English department where I taught<English as a second language> did
not think a lowly adjunct<good word!> needed a computer.  In fact,
they didn't even think I merited a desk<or, hee hee, A POT TO PEE
IN!  Silly ole me.>.  In reality, I didn't need a computer as
programming was just a hobby for me<Yes, I think most English profs
would agree.  "Computers...BAH!>.  I just liked the idea of making
a machine my slave<I, of course, prefer to make a slave my machine,
but hey, different strokes...>
       Thus we found ourselves seated in front of our respective
IBM clones<nothing gets me going like erotica chock-full of
computer references.  If she later mentions IMSAI, and misspells
it, I will surely die.  Altair?  S-100 bus?  Oh the humanity!> on
an almost daily basis. With a little detective work<I *asked* him. 
Call me Samantha Spayed!> I found out that his name was Alex and he
was an <water polo>instructor in the computer science department.
Even if he had been a sexual zilch<zero>, I still would have
probably noticed him as we were the ONLY users of the two PCs in a
faculty lab filled with Macs<and the only two who wore leather
bullet-bras *over* our halter tops>. God! how I hated those
machines<What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like
comp.sys.Amiga.Advocacy?>. My prejudice<God, how I *hate*
serendipidists!>, like most<of my other unattractive features> was
inherited, in my case<of the clap> from my father. He has been
working with computers for the last 30 years<in fact, he *invented*
the transistor!  Shocking.>. As a memento, he gave me his original
IMSA 8080<Oh God, she did it!> still in working order. I had been
brought up to think that computers should not be `cute'<nor should
Sally Fields, but she's a *button*!>.
      Herman<Goering>, the director of the lab, must have picked up
on my vibes<because it wasn't a cordless one, but one of those big
white mongo plug-in deals with the end that looks like a disc
brake.  And boy, was it loud.> as he would barely give me the time
of day<Does anybody really know what time it is?  Does anybody
really care.  Lemme see, it's six to four>.  That is, until I
hatched MY PLAN<I would corner the world silver market and then
found the USFL!>.
       One day, finally overcoming my shyness<shyness is nice, but
shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life that you
want to>, I glanced over at Alex<TREBECK!  Together, we would RULE
THE WORLD!!>.  Actually, I looked at his <hall>monitor<armband,
notable for the penciled-in swastika> and realized that he was
trying to pirate<a ship!  But if you're not the Dread Pirate
Roberts, then who is?> an application<for employment at Denny's,
which is silly, because if you just ask, they are required by law
to give you one.>.
       "If Herman<Melville> catches you, he will hang you by
your<barnacles and huge, gaping blowhole> thumbnails and tattoo Mac
icons on strange parts of your body.<Honey, there ain't a part of
me that's *not* strange.  I'm from Canada.>"
       Alex<Winter> laughed and said<"There's madness afoot at the
Circle-K this eve">, "Oh, Herman and I are good buddies<What is...a
euphemism for 'lifemates'?>. I teach Pascal using<Chisembop and
'Hooked on Phonics'> the Mac and I frequently have to ask him
questions. Actually, I make up the questions so I can stay on his
good side<his *BACK*!!>."
       After the ice was broken, we began to <skate>talk every day. 
On about the third day, I found out about HIS OFFICE<He
was...POPE!>.  Since he was an instructor, the university deemed<I
love when a word like this crops up.  Remember 'adjunct'? 
'Merited'??  And now *this*.> to give him an office. It was a
hasty<retreat> sheetrock affair of about 70 square feet and a very
large Steelcase desk<um, excuse me.  It was a "hasty" office? 
Well...you're the wordsmith.>. On the downside<of five o'clock here
at WOGL, and I'm gonna be sending you home with a little Bay City
Rollers Action:  S--A--T-U-R--D-A-Y.  NIGHT!>?, it was located off
the very room in which I sat<the *very*!>.  Despite these
limitations, it had a door with a lock<of angel-hair pasta Scotch-
taped to it, the meaning of which eludes me even now>. This was not
the point when I began to formulate MY <5 YEAR>PLAN, but I am sure
that it was an inspiration<I sniffed again.  My mistake.  Per...>.
       MY <5 YEAR>PLAN took its focus the day Alex and I were on
the elevator together<First, I would arrest all the artists and
philosophers.  Then I would make everyone wear gray and cut their
hair like Moe Howard.  Then...>. It was the typical cattle car
scene<lots of shit on the floor and a crazy cowboy or two getting
their rocks off.>.  We were jammed in like sardines and the only
redeeming factor that when pressed against each other I realized
that Alex was sporting a very big hard on<bloodlog>.  After this
revelation and a few later surreptitious glances, I realized that
he had an constant erection whenever we were together<This could
only mean one thing!  He liked girls.>. He seemed to have the same
chemical reaction to me as I did to him<Yes, his vagina would
moisten and his nipples would press against his bra.>. This
discovery was the impetus<keep these words coming.  You know,
impetus can be cured.  Roll some stamps around his penis before you
go to bed, stamp AIR MAIL on his forehead and then...> which led me
to even think about anything as risky as THE PLAN<9 From Outer
Space.  by Edward Woodie>.
       A few very innocent lunches, laced with a lot of
heavy<saltpeter> sexual <DYNAMO>tension, followed.  As inconvenient
as the location of his office WAS, it turned out that we were both
married.  This came as not a really big surprise, as I was fully
cognizant<aware, to you and me> of my own marital status<no fool I! 
Although I forget sometimes and have to look at the ring to remind
me.  I'm so silly.> and since he was not a kid<napper.  Although he
*does* know just a few too many details about the Lindbergh baby,
and whenever he talks about it, he says "we".  But I'm so
silly...>, the probabilities<of drawing a seven when doubling hard
fourteen against a dealer's six drop dramatically if you scream,
"Hit me, Lotus-Blossom!" and pound your fist on the table> were
that he was married too. Although I had anticipated the fact, it
presented <word>problems<especially those annoying 'related rates"
thingees.  I mean, who *cares* how fast the pool fills?!  How will
*this* come in handy at the supermarket?>.  I never claimed to be
a romantic<poet>, but the idea of a<Grecian Urn> seedy motel room
didn't much appeal to <the car thief in>me.
       His office therefore became the most likely location<No
doubt.>.  As I mentioned before, its only assets were the large
desk and the locked door<Well, *and* the bondage table, the sling,
the hydraulic winch, the cross...>. The walls were <toilet>paper
thin.  Since I generally cum loudly and frequently<IN *BED*>, after
contemplation<of course it helps that my mantra is "fuckme">, I
decided I had better begin my homework<thank God all the odd
answers were in the back>.
       While Herman beamed away<zip-a-dee-do-dah, zip-a-dee-ay, my
oh my-->, I began my research on the Mac. Discretion was the
<better part of valor?>key word<say the key word and you win fifty
dollars>. Herman was very protective of his little apples<as he
called his marble-sized testicles>. The actual <de>programming was
done at home thanks to a Mac on loan from a friend>Steve Jobs>.
(When it comes to programming, I am very patient.<Yes, I believe
most programmers share this quality.  In fact, I relish nothing
more than the thought of compiling and linking five megs of Clipper
code on an 8080>) Finally, after weeks of debugging<de-lousing,
call it what you will>, I was able to write and load a nifty<nifty!
Hee.  Aren't I just...such a girl!> little program that would
render the Mac server useless for the hour or so I hoped I
needed<Fabulous idea.  Your co-workers will love you for it,
especially if they're in mid-compile, or haven't saved anything>.
       After what had seemed eons<thousands of years>, the day of
execution arrived<I only regret that I have but one life to give
for my country.  *HIS*!>.  This was not exactly the type of program
you could <master>Beta test so I just <VHS'ed it> crossed my<legs,
snapping a co-worker's neck> fingers and hoped I could prove
my<love to my>father <death be not>proud.
      Although we were definitely running on the same track<the
slow one>, I didn't want Alex to suffer cardiac arrest<so I slipped
the nitro pill under his tongue>.  In preparation for what was to
come<The CULTURAL REVOLUTION!>, I strolled into his office humming
the tune of My Favorite Things from the Sound of Music<OH THE
HUMANITY!  Hey, remember Julie Andrew's hooter's in "S.O.B"?  I do. 
They weren't big or pendulous but they *were* floppy.>.  When I
began to sing my lyrics to the song, a broad grin crossed his
face<and he looked like an idiot child, who loves nothing so much
as wood>. (If this is beginning to sound like a scene from an
Indian movie, you're right, but stay tuned.<Oh I will, I WILL. 
Mississippi Masala?)
 
Guys in tight bike pants, their crotches a-bulgin'
Wet, hot, slick, hard skin, and secrets divulgin'
A story 'bout Suzy-Q<"Queen.  Of.  Hearts.  Come on, come ah-ahn>,
oh what a scene,
These are a few of my favorite things
 
Guys in blue denim<denim boys.  yummy.>, their lashes a blazin'<oh
my!>
One with his pants off, his size is amazin'!
A horse with a hard on suspended by strings *<asterisk>
These are a few of my favorite things
 
When the clap<applause> hits, when his pud drops, and I need it bad
I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so
sad
 
*  This line inserted in honor of Catherine the Great, and the
new Russian democracy!<Nay!>
 
      After my vocal recount of MY favorite things there wasn't
much resistance (none, maybe?<ya think?>) when I knelt down in
front of him and unzipped his jeans. Having waited for what seemed
centuries<hundreds of years>, I immediately began to savor the
<table of>contents.  As my tongue rolled around the head of his
penis, in a voice<!!> tempered with both extesy<ouch!> and panic, he
murmured,
      "Jesus, Clarissa<Harlowe!>, we can't do this here.<But
Lovelace...>" 
       Before the not to worry reassurance crossed my lips both
of us heard a shaken<not stirred> Herman pounding his <pud>fists on
a nearby keyboard.  Putting two and two together Alex began
laughing so uncontrollably that I found it my civic duty to silence
him<Yes, I shot him.>. Retaking appendage in mouth<eek> I began to
suck it for all it was worth.
     Not being slow on the uptake, Alex slid his hands into my
blouse and discovered I was not wearing a bra<Hoo-er!>.  In fact,
since it was a special occasion I had dispensed with all
underwear<I dress like this at all joint sessions of congress,
state dinners, and public executions>. Taking this as his cue<I
broke, sank the eight ball, and blew that popsicle stand>, with a
quick switch of positions we found ourselves<facing away from each
other, preparing to duel> on his large Steelcase desk. He began by
running his tongue along the curve of my small but well 
<mal>formed breast, and down my <ample>belly. Bearing right at <68
degrees>my navel, he shortly found his tongue wading through my
short and curlies<Oh how precious!  I want to bite and kiss you.>.
I sucked him deeper into my mouth as his tongue hit my clit<Axl
Rose>. He had one hand twiddling<!! I don't know you silly boy,
I've never twiddled> my clit between tongue laps<es>, while his
tongue was exploring my wet cunt, darting in and out<dart-like>,
tracing my lips all the way back where he lightly nibbled that very
sensitive area between cunt and anus<I like to call it North
Jersey>, and then he gave my hole itself a gentle <tooth>brush <but
that is the stuff of urban legends.  Ooh, it was a Reach>. The
<Big<chill that shot up my spine caused me to gasp<and retch>,
sucking his pumping cock deeper into my eager mouth. His tongue
finally returned to my clit. God the walls were shaking<the Earth
was quaking my mind was aching, and we were making it.  them mean
old eyes...knocking me out with those American trout.>!
   I could have continued with this game for a long, long time,
but as if out of no where a condom appeared<oh thank you thank you
my fairy condom godmother!>. My heart, already pounding double
time, started doing little flips<wreaking havoc with my artificial
mitral valve>. My clitty, so recently being ministered to by
tongue, started pounding in anticipation of what it knew was
coming<After three pounds she popped.>. I took the packet from him
and ripped it open<nearly destroying the condom in the process.>.
Now, with both of us sitting on the edge of that steelcase, I
gently grasped his member [I just HAD to]<we understand> in one
hand and unrolled the sheath with my other<if it hurt as I
unravelled the skin from his penis he never let on.  And they say
chivalry is dead.  Piffle, I say.>. I realized that the wrapper was
still in my hand<20 more and I could get a Bazooka Joe decoder
ring>. As I reached across the desk to the trash, I felt a hand on
my back, and then another reaching around my waist to my hot
pussy<at first this was disconcerting since Alex was standing right
in front of me...>. I knew what was coming<soon...we'd PADIDDLE!>,
and I reached back to help guide his flesh missile into my anxious
(but not hardened) target<??!! I thought you were sitting on the
edge of the desk??!!  So *what* target?  *MY SPINE*!!>. Help wasn't
needed however, and before my hand found its target, his
<smart>missile found mine, and with a grunt of satisfaction he
started his <long, long> journey home.
      With a long slow push I felt myself filling up
<with...SEMPRINI??!>. Then his hand came around me and started to
caress my clit<man in the rowboat.  ick.>. Then finger twiddle,
slow stroke out, fingers, fast push in. My clamping him tight on
each outstroke was driving us both to a frenzy<sub-par Hitchcock,
but not without its good points, like when the camera backs away
from the woman's apartment and down the stairs> . With each beat of
the penetration, the cycle of pleasure began all over again<cool
beans.>. As if upon mutual <pre-nuptial>agreement, a soft languid
cry flowed from our lips and could have been heard if anyone had
been listening<it sounded something like, "*BARANGUS!*">. 
Serendipitiously<luckily>, a loud wail<a great white one> from
Herman<Melville> was produced on the opposite side of the wall<how
fortuitous!>.
      I wish I could describe the sound of 12 Macs crashing
simultaneously, but it really isn't very interesting<I believe you. 
Honest>.
 

RICHH

credits to RDC for that whole Alex Trebeck ruling the world thing



