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I know guys like you. I use to work next to someone like you, I'm sure of it. They were on time, they never caused problems, they usually were shy and had acne and well, smelled like a boy's locker room after the big game.
People would probably shove you into garbage cans, attach a piece of paper with "loser!" on your backside, and your poor family would nurture you, wondering if maybe you should find another place to live so you could avoid this ever living torture.
But you weren't tortured, were you? No... Not You! Secretly you grew harder at the thought of the girls at the lunch table talking about you. You longed to be teased, gossiped about, and would often draw attention to yourself with the erection their nastiness created. I understand.
I get a weird sense of enjoyment by your whine, a sick twisted pleasure in taunting you, and a sense of accomplishment at your whimpers. I'll have you saying and doing things that will secure your placement in the humiliation hall of lame.