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Neutronium Soul

God damn I have a soul-crushing job,” the fucktard next to me announced to no one in particular.

I pried my gaze up from the foamy depths of my pint and turned to him.

You wait tables at a Sizzler.” I replied. “I spend my days listening to The Least Interesting Man in the World explain how not to grab your secretary’s tits. Soul-crushing? Mother-fucker, my soul is neutonium.”