"A hooker? What the fuck do you think I was doing down there, giving blowjobs to goldfish?"

I bought new pens and sharpened a new pencil all in an effort to make me a work machine today. See, I'm not one of those self-starting type people. I have to play huge imaginary games with myself to get even a little motivated.
The thought of my fat ass in a wedding dress isn't enough to make me do 100 sit ups a day. I have to pretend that I'm Rocky and I'm training for that fight with Mr. T.
At work, it often comes down to espionage. I have to imagine that I'm a spy or a CIA agent...a code breaking specialist actually. I have to input all of these numbers (ISBN's) and break the friggin code or a huge, disasterous thing might happen at the pentagon or the Washington monument DUN DUNNNNN...whatever it varies.
I think I have a Jumpin' Jack Flash complex or something. Actually, while I'm thinking about it....that movie rules. Oh Whoopie, what happened?