The Morals of Stealing Stationery

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Stealing stationery from work is theft, despite how gratifying and sensual it is to take the Collins Minute notebook. No matter how right it feels to tuck that notebook into your briefcase at lunchtime when everyone else has gone out for schnitzels and lemon, lime and bitters, you know it’s wrong.

Yeah, when I get you home little notebook, I’m going to write all over you in pencil, then rub it out, then lock you in my desk drawer, oh yeah baby.

Maybe I’ll staple a few pages together. I know you like it kinky.

That’s right, just lie there and take it. Take my pen. Tell me how much you love it.

Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You’re one of those dirty books who give other stationery a bad name.

Oooh, trying to stick that pen up my arse were you? You’ll regret that when I sandwich you between these two big, fat, black whiteboard markers.

Then you’re going to say that you’re not old enough to be written in yet, that you only came out of the factory fourteen days ago, but you told me it was eighteen.

Anyway, that sort of shit with stationery is unacceptable, so you’re fired.