If interviewees ever wonder at the placid smile on Martin Martins' face, it is not that they want to know his secret. In his line of work - human resources - he is merely a major non-entity, a leading figure in a field of not-very-muchness.
For the secret of Martin Martins is quite simple: that, for his entire life, he has never once farted. The urge to make gaseous expulsions and odorous emissions from his increasingly vast and various orifices remains with him; indeed, over time, the urge to flatulence has gradually attained volcanic proportions, and it is only through a titanic exercise of self-will that he is able to suppress this desire.
It is this basic power over the various gaseous forces at work within his own body that gives him such a sinister complacency in interviews. Indeed, such is his self-control, that when others fart in his presence, he will barely register a reaction. An evanescent shadow of greed, hatred, jealousy and desire will flit over his eyes. 99 times out of 100, his interview subjects will simply misinterpret this look as meaning that he likes them.
Curiously, for a person who rose to his current position of power and influence through various accountant positions, Martin Martins' has difficulty counting. He spent most of his time as an accountant signing forms.
He devours sausages whole - one ever night. He has a revulsion of pins, scissors, thumb tacks, knives and forks, and other sharp objects (and future events will prove him right).
Sometimes, when he lies naked in bed, he will observe the gastric forces at work within his own intestines, move up and down his chest in subterranean waves, probing here and there for a new entrance: he knows it is only a matter of time before they find one.
And then, hot and uncomfortable, he will fall asleep, dreaming of dancing naked through a field of buttercups with Julie Andrews in his arms, after a team of panting beagles ...
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
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