Sitting here with my short, ugly fingernails, I cannot think of a task more annoying than reviewing this shitty little can of coffee. But they told me they would "let me go" if I didn't do a quick write-up of my experience with Dydo "M." So I write. I write naked and sweaty, choking in a miasma of rage that envelops my cross-legged form. My pen trembles as it lurches across the soiled pages of my diary.

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