'Jesus Christ, Ray/Moon/anybody, really.' The words spring onto the screen without pause, or thoughts catered to any repercussions. Alan leans back in his swivel chair, which sighs from the stretching, hands sitting proud against the back of his head. A smile takes over his lips, and the more he thinks about the trouble that simple string of words will cause, the more it leaks into his cheeks. When he saves the devious question to the cooperative January Challenge document, he breaks into the most mean-spirited chortles.
'People are going to get burned so bad. And it's all part of my master plan," he thinks to himself, between big alternating bites of pasta salad, and mashed potatoes swimming in margarine.
Well, he thought wrong :P love ya, boy!
