A story about smoking

Jake with the nose and tongue rings, pink skin, close-clipped blonde beard, V-striped tattooed back, big biceps, pecs, and a rock-hard bubble butt sat at his computer pecking away porn orders received from Dubuque, Iowa, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Gainesville, Florida -- you name it, they wanted their gay male porn. He loved his side business, couldn't get enough of it, squeezing in a few minutes there at coffee break, at lunch, during the afternoon snooze. He ran home 5:00 to fill all the other orders. Why, he averaged 250 orders a day. All he did was build a fancy schmantzy website -- the middleman. He made anywhere from 50 cents to 15 dollars an order. Most days it was 2000 dollars, all for one website that peddled hair, muscles, and a healthy dose of C + A.

He'd long ago gotten bored at the office with his C++ programming job. Everything they wanted him to do, he did it in the first two hours of the day. He could fill all his orders at the office if he wanted to. But for Albert. But for Albert's pesky buttinskies he could do everything before 5:00 rolled around.

Jake and Albert shared an office on the west side of the first floor overlooking the dumpster and back parking lot. Albert couldn't sit still for ten minutes before ranting about some Star Trek convention, buggy Microsoft shit, stupid environmentalists who recycled Coke bottles, Obama and those un-American Democrats (no, Albert said, he was no racist) all the while bouncing his knees, stomping his feet, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, picking his nose, wiping down his desk with Fantastik, rubbing his hands in antiseptic, or combing his hair with a little black comb he kept in his pocket at all times. Albert's breath! Every time Albert came over to Jake's computer (way too often) it smelled like an ashtray. Gross city, Jake thought. Albert disappeared from their office two, three times every hour and Jake knew it was to go outside to smoke. Thank God he did. Even with all those cigarettes Albert behaved like a firecracker. Take away the cigarettes and Albert would go off like the bomb on Hiroshima.

Someone ought to give him a Valium. Every hour on the hour. That way, Jake might be able to build up his porn business. The men of Dubuque, Halifax, and Gainesville would be grateful.