When the Cat's Away...

The boss and the psuedo-not-really-my-boss-but-still-my-superior-because-he's-older-and-has-worked-here-longer have left for lunch. This is a momentous event, a blog-worthy item because, they never leave for lunch because they are workaholics in the classic workaholic sense...as in...during the few hours of sleep they get, they dream about work.
Then, they brag to each other periodically throughout the day about how much their job kills their social life/ages them/makes them fat/makes them crazed insomniacs who live on Starbucks and Diet Coke and cheap, carb-laden food.
It's like:
"I haven't gone on a date in a year!"
"Well...I haven't even touched a woman in a year...not even a hug from my mom!"
"Well...I haven't even SEEN a woman for a year! (directed toward me) No offense."

I might think about leaving the room if they start talking about the time intervals between masturbating...I really don't think I could handle that mental image.