Simpsons Porn

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I predicted that it was going to be just another normal weekday afternoon. I expected to wake up around 4:00 in the afternoon to the sound of Mr. Smithers annoying, announcer-like voice telling me to get off my carcass and do some work, or else just go home. Of course, I would choose to go home, but not before grabbing one last pink-iced donut from the coffee room and chatting with Lenny or Carl about how unwarranted Mr. Smithers disdain was for me and generally about how disdainful he was himself, before turning around and seeing him standing there, prissily pissed, and then fleeing the place as swiftly as I could to the cries of my friends cheering me on.

And at least part of my prediction turned out to be correct. I was in and out of work by 4:15, driving to Moes after a long dayor at least, a long days rest. My stomach was satiated by that last delicious donut and my confidence had been risen by my friends laughter at what I secretly knew wasnt really all that good of an imitation of our boss. I sighed contently as I drove, turning the stereo to some random station and singing along inaccurately to some 80s tune that exited my speakers. This is the life, I thought to myself. Nothing ever changes, and thats perfectly fine with me.

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