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Subject: {ASSM} the Michael Collins' Anthology { See Chapter Guide for Codes } [4/21]
Date: Sun,  8 Apr 2001 20:10:05 -0400
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                    the Michael Collins' Anthology

   Warning: This story contains frank discussions of a sexually
   explicit nature, and is intended for mature audiences only.

   Disclaimer: The persons depicted in this story are entirely
   fictional. Any similarities are completely coincidental.
   References to actual places, companies, or organizations are used
   strictly for artistic reference to provide realism. In other
   words, none of this is true.

   Copyright (c) 1999-2001 CyberCzar. You may download this story
   for your own personal use; but please don't share it with anyone.
   If you think someone else might be interested in this story,
   please forward their request to me.

     -------------------------------------------------------------

Datatronics

   Driving to Buckhead was always a pain in the ass. He lived in
   Alpharetta and had to take Georgia State Road 400 each day.
   Predictably, there must have been a pile-up later on down the
   road because as he got to Holcomb Bridge Road, traffic was at a
   stand-still.

   About 30 minutes later, he made his way through the toll-booth
   and sped up so he could get over to take the Lenox Rd. exit.

   Michael pulled into his office building, waved his parking card
   so the gate would raise, and proceeded to park his car.

   Next, he walked into the building, swiped his access badge, and
   entered the elevator.

   As he got off the elevator on the 16th floor, he swiped his
   access badge again, entered his office, and made his way to his
   desk.

   Several people were in already, and they shared their normal
   pleasantries as they did in the morning.

   He booted up his computer, checked his eMail, and began to work.

   Right about this time Arnie got in and walked over to sit in the
   next cube to him. He didn't say anything to Michael, nor did
   Michael say anything to him.

   He was busy coding away for about an hour, when he saw Arnie's
   reflection in the mirror on his monitor.

   Michael pushed his chair back, stood up, and faced him.

   "How's it going, dude," he said; putting one hand on his
   shoulder, the other on his crotch.

   While pushing him back, Michael scornfully told him, "Fine!"

   Laughing, he reproached him. "I see you fixed your 'problem' you
   had yesterday." he said.

   Michael was getting furious. While looking at Arnie, he replayed
   the sequence he saw that morning on the videotape.

   Next, he stepped towards him, and grabbed his arm with his hand,
   directing him to the breakroom at the end of the office.

   As the two entered, Michael forced him down into a chair.

   "Listen you faggot fuck," he whispered to him. "I know what you
   did to me while I was 'unconscious' Friday night."

   Arnie started squirming in his chair a little. "Do what? I didn't
   do anything to you," he said, lying.

   "Fuck you!" Michael said a little louder, quickly lowering his
   voice afterwards. "Julie had a video camera propped up in the
   basement - she recorded everything," he said with emphasis.

   "Does she know?" he asked, covering his face with his hands.

   "Not yet," he said. "Now get the fuck up."

   Michael escorted him back to his desk, and they continued about
   their day.

   The rest of the day went relatively smoothly. He was checking the
   code revisions he was making to the card processing module into
   the CVS repository.

   Co-workers stopped by cube; they chatted about their respective
   holidays and how they were spent. He casually mentioned to Angie
   that his was boring since he was unconscious for pretty much the
   whole weekend. This brought a roaring laugh from Arnie's cube.

   Michael skipped lunch, and continued to work. He was so
   captivated with his work that he didn't know his new found
   special abilities were starting to show through.

   While listening to a Dave Matthew's Band CD, he began typing
   faster and faster. People around him were starting to notice.
   Faster and faster his fingers traversed the keyboard, in the open
   vi session he had, working on the code. A steady stream of clicks
   without pauses reverberated from his cube. As he stopped to check
   on the code a co-worker was working on, he turned around and a
   rather large crowd had formed.

   He had just finished coding close to 10,000 lines of code in
   about 25 minutes!

   "Hot damn," Robert said; breaking the cheers and applause which
   had started. "That's the fastest coding I'd ever seen! You had to
   have been typing close to 500 words per minute!"

   "Uh, it was nothing," he replied, forcing his way through the
   crowd.

   As he walked away to head downstairs, Arnie yelled out from the
   back of the crowd, "Go ahead, Mike! Tell 'em how you do it!" he
   said.

   "Too much caffeine!" he yelled back, walking out the door.

   When he got back to his cube; Michael had a new voice mail
   waiting for me. It was Scott, his boss. "Stop by my  cube as soon
   as you get this message," he said.

   "Shit!" he thought to myself. Did Arnie tell him?

   He walked over to Scott's cube and sat down on the other side of
   his desk. Since he was a manager, his cube was twice as big as
   his. This seemed totally unfair; since he did half the work he,
   or any other programmer did.

   "I heard you almost broke your keyboard a few minutes ago," he
   said; his back to him facing his screen. "Care to tell me what's
   going on?"

   Michael paused for a moment and rubbed his hands on his legs.

   "Nothing's going on," he told him.

   "Uh huh," he said - still playing his game of Mahjongg.

   "Do you have a problem with the way I'm doing my  job," he asked
   him sarcastically.

   "Whatever is not going on," he said, "I like it. Keep it up."

   "I haven't been having a problem with that lately," he mumbled.
   "Will do, thanks." he said, as he left his office.

   Michael walked about 10 steps away, when he heard Scott pick up
   the phone.

   As before with his new found gifts, Michael simply thought how
   nice it would be if he could hear what Scott was saying, and
   almost immediately, the rest of the noises in the office drowned
   out as he was litening to Scott's conversation; and the voice on
   the other end, quite clearly.

   "I think we have a problem with Michael Collins," he told the
   voice on the other end. "I'd like to schedule a random drug test
   for him if that's ok."

   "We'll schedule him for a urinalysis test tomorrow," the woman on
   the other end replied.

   Michael became a little apprehensive. How could someone like him,
   without a bladder, give a urinalysis? What if they wanted blood?!

   Quickly, he walked back to his cube and thought about the
   predicament he was in. How was he going to get by this one? This
   explains why he remembered drinking Orange Juice, and then
   pissing Orange Juice a little while later; or drinking coffee
   and, well, you know. He got sick of looking at brown and orange
   urine that most of the time he relegated myself to drinking
   nothing but water.

   "Wait a minute!" he thought to myself. "Arnie, I need Arnie!"

   As he finished formulating his thought, the thought of what he
   needed Arnie for didn't appeal to him at all.

   Michael got up and walked to the cube next-door. "I need you," He
   told Arnie as I entered.

   "The famous Michael Collins needs me?" Arnie questioned
   sarcastically.

   "Shut the fuck up," he told him. "We're leaving now, cCome back
   to his house."

   Arnie and Michael left work early, and he followed him back to
   his house in Alpharetta. Tagging not far behind, he pulled in
   behind Michael into the driveway.

   Entering through the garage, Arnie followed Michael into the
   kitchen and sat down at the bar.

     -------------------------------------------------------------

                 Let me know what you think! Email Me!
           This story is available at the following places:
                 * http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/cyberczar/www/ *
                   * mailto:cyberczar@despammed.com *

             Copyright (c) 1999-2001. All Rights Reserved.


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