Chloe was never going to get the report done on time. That’s it, she thought, I’m fucked. Completely, utterly, and irreversibly fucked. She slurped her cup of noodles and resented each noodle individually. Somehow the clock on her wall had stopped counting the seconds with tick-tock and was instead counting each second with fucked-fucked. If she hadn’t wasted those four minutes making the noodles, she might not have found herself so monumentally fucked. She would have still been rather fucked, of course, but perhaps less than she found herself now. Now, she was entirely fucked. One might even say, egregiously fucked. A cup of noodles barely even had any nutritional value; they were not worth the titanically fucked position she was now in. She was prodigiously fucked, all because of a cup of noodles. The clock ticked. She slurped and typed and whispered fuck, fuck, fuck.