I try to limit my active hatred to people who directly fuck with me. But I do hate you, even though we've never actually met. It's not just that you have a haircut just like Jim Carey in Dumb & Dumber, or even that you wear "I've Got A Friend In Jesus" T-shirts. What really gets me is you playing along with Who Wants to Be a Millionaire on the cafeteria TV during lunch breaks. We work the same shift, so it's just us in there. But I eat quietly in the other room, listening to you holler answers at the screen as if it could hear you. You're floored, dumbfounded when you guess wrong, but pump your fist in the air, shrieking and hooting in triumph when you get one right. Every. God. Damn. Time. During commercials, you pace the corners of the room playing some demented mental sport, slapping each table as you pass. You don't notice me, but I sure clock you, lab monkey. I fantasize about strangling you as I grind bologna in my jaws. You better hope I, unlike you, never forget the difference between fantasy and reality....