You got a donut?

[onca]

~Dwayne sits on the chair with his lanky legs jammed together; without a table he is clumsily filling out the form on his knees. He nervously wipes his sweaty palms on his horizontal-striped short-sleeve office shirt, knocking his clip-on tie askew. His glasses keep sliding down his nose, which he adjusts back by pushing on the cellar-taped middle~

1. Do you like donuts?
My doctor told me I shouldn't eat donuts... they are nutritionally deficient, and the powdered sugar is bad for my asthma. Is a celery stick ok?

2. Do you like coffee?
Mama doesn't like me drinking coffee. It keeps me awake all night. But soy milk is ok. They're both made from beans, right?

3. Do you like paperwork?
One of my hobbies is paper mache. I made a lovely bust of my own head... but sadly it melted when the house got flooded.

4. Do you have any flight experience?
I once took a vacation to Pittsburgh.

5. What is the pay you expect to get from this?
Pay? Goodness, this is really just something mama suggested to get me out of the house. Well, enough to buy her something special on her birthday, I guess.

6. What hours do you expect/can you work?
I must be home absolutely no later than 6 o'clock, or 5:30 in winter, as mama doesn't like me being out after dark.

7. Do you have any objections to strapping yourself to a flimsy, piece o' crap Patriot, with downgraded weaponry and upgraded ejection seats? Furthermore, do you have any objections to taking said crappy Patriot, enforcing the law o' Liberty, God, and Chuck Norris, to a mass of people that don't care one way or the other what you do?
Well, haha, it can't possibly be any worse than the Vespa step-thru space scooter that I have now, can it. I am ready to serve the innocent and deal very assertively with law breakers! Oh and who's Chuck Norris?

8. Are you disgruntled?
Um.... no. Not really. Well yes, when mama insists on making onion and turnip soup for my lunch. It gives me gas. But that's about it.

~Dwayne finishes filling out the form. His writing is all bumpy from his corduroy trousers, and several times the pen punched through the paper. He approaches the snoring man meekly. "Excuse me, sir. Sir! I've finished..."~