The O-Ring of Fire (2)....

... I did have my theories, of course. My first theory was the most logical – my bung-o-flames was being caused by the piece-o-carp, leatherette office chair I plop my skinny ass in for ten hours every goddamn day. As the day wears on, the ol’ crackerino transforms into an Arizona sweat lodge. It’s like a wood-burning pizza oven down there – I swear, if I jammed a pinch of sourdough starter up my shitter each morning, I’d have a steamy loaf by lunchtime… San Francisco style. And the rubbery/silicone-y seat cushion thing I bought to better distribute the pressure on my bony-ass assbones probably isn’t helping matters, either. I might as well be sporting rubber baby pants all day. I'm surprised I don't have lichen growing on my taint. What I really need is one of those Aeron chairs with the mesh seat so I can properly “Aeron” my crackhole out. Damn, if only I hadn’t spent that last thousand dollars on food, clothes for the spawnage, the mortgage and that Take 5 bar...