Taken from a much longer rant about working at Target: Then there are the attention starved wanna-be cougars who once oozed sex when they walked. Now they just ooze old make up, day old booze and something that smells faintly of moth balls while they try to get the 16 year old pimple faced teenagers to notice their pushed up old leathered milk sacks. My night is mostly spent trying to figure out if my team lead has a nice ass or whether that is sleep deprivation talking. Cuz when I'm rested it looks like a giggly mound of flesh replete with potholes and craters from some far off war lost to that last piece of cheesecake. But some nights the only thought that keeps me awake is bending her over the my little pony display in the toy section and making her neigh. Then there is this other team lead who looks like she's twelve. She's my favorite victim. I make little girl pelvis cracking/clown costume jokes at her the whole night. When she gets rowdy I ask her if its past her curfew and tell her to be a good girl if she wants another lollypop. Sometimes when she's super good I promise to give her a gold star and let her stay up an extra half hour to watch David Letterman's monologue. Basically when I look in her general direction I feel a contrary sense of both attraction and shame. If I keep working there I'm going to have to grow a fumanchu, get a van with no windows and stock up on duct tape and candy corn. Focus: How do you get yourself through work if not happily then at least without homicidal incident Alt Focus: Tell me a story about a work incident. Make me laugh.