"I had my doubts at first," said the single-stranded positive sense RNA genome, relaxing in a smudge of fecal matter atop George Carlson's keyboard. "But then I teamed up with norovirus over there by the fax machine, and coronavirus over there by the - well, he's pretty much on every non-porous surface in this place - and we've achieved so much more than I ever could've dreamed."
Starting out in HR Director Madeleine Bernstein's nasal passage, and traveling via a shower of respiratory droplets onto a leftover birthday cake, rhinovirus described how three chatty broads pretty much licked him right off their chocolate frosting covered fingers. "They were going on and on about The Biggest Loser and then, Jesus, it was like Christmas all over again - one of them actually used her saliva-covered fork to cut herself another slice."
With the chuckle of one remembering good times of days gone by, rhino relates how it was almost "too easy" to infect the male population of the office. "Everyone knows Larry doesn't wash his hands after he takes a leak," laughed the imperialistic germ, twirling its single, long polypeptide. "That bathroom door handle is like the Holy Land of my people. You just sit and wait and hosts come to you. Maintenance even installed one of those hand sanitizer dispensers, you know, for after you wash your hands. Please, that's two more steps than ole Lar' has time for."
If all goes as planned, rhino and his gang plan to have the entire office feeling like absolute shit within the week.
"The best part is that these people won't even take a sick day," said rhino, straddling the sides of a juicy booger that has made its way from Mary Ellen's nose, to her finger, to a stack of paper coffee cups. "These people wouldn't call in sick unless they were practically dead. And if I can get that deal with H1N1 finalized, we may be able to make that happen."
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| Come closer, I want to tell you a secret. |
