So, I went into work this morning, and I walked right into my office, where I oddly found Prole. He was wearing nothing but a leather, possibly pleather, jock strap while singing a crude rendition of Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight). Fearing the worst, I went to the mail room and got a roll of heavy packaging tape, which I wrapped and circled my waste with repeatedly in order to tightly seal my but. Realizing that said packaging tape would also make a good shield layer for my regular accident of spilling hot beverages on my dick, I got an extra large cup of coffee. I returned to my office, realizing that it was, in reality, Sunday morning, and this was a dream. And then I spilled the coffee on myself and woke up.
The twist is that if this were but a dream, why were my boxers wet when I woke up? It is a mystery.