Sponge Bob Died and I murdered him.

Today, at work, I murdered my Spunge Bob play toy. It wasn't and accident as much as an oversight. It wasn't murder, it was sponge slaughter. Nicole gave me the little plastic squishy Spunge Bob last year. It had certain soothing properties on confernce calls. When my peers were picking on me (my team) in mindless bueracratic banter they use to make their lack of willingness to solve a problem look like someone else's fault, I'd give old Sponge Bob a clinch. He was flexible and elastic, so I was alway's amazed at how no matter how hard I squeezed he just bubbled out somewhere in between my fingers. Plus if people were just going on about nothing, I could always watch the really cool clouds of sparkels that were in the liquid inside him. That's what Sponge Bob was for. I abused him, so I wouldn't take my frustrations out on my coworkers.

But for particulars I won't bore you with, today somebody said something that made me give ol Sponge Bob a little too much of a squeeze and his guts burst out all over my desk, and onto the computer, and my phone. To Sponge Bob, who gave is life so that some unnamed manager at SBC may live.

For those on futre phone calls, you better hope Sponge Bob is still in stock at the stores.