Items no self-respecting cube rat should be without:

CubeDoor Classic
Made of something called NanoWeave, this spring-action fabric is billed as a door, but it’s more like police crime scene tape, only bulkier and with the living dead, rather than the just plain dead, behind it. Installing one in your cubicle doorway communicates to your co-workers that, “I’ve gone to great lengths to keep you out of my cube, because I hate you and I wish that you would all die.” The CubeDoor is not recommended for making office friends and preliminary tests indicate that it only partially disguises lengthy booger-picking sessions from passers-by.
Cost: $29.95
Employee personality: Irritable

Photo of High School Girlfriend
Oh man, she was gorgeous. That prom night was wild. And the limo we rented — we had no idea they were going to charge us for the alcohol in there. I wonder what she’s doing now. She might still be with that guy I heard she was dating — what was his name? Lawrence? Lance something? She and I had such good times together. I’ve never really felt that with anyone since. Let’s see: Google address search. Wow, still in the same town. I should give her a call right now. But that might be awkward, calling from work. Just look at her — she could be a model. Shit — I gotta go to a meeting. Maybe I’ll call her tomorrow.
Cost: Your soul
Employee personality: Melancholy

Snore Stopper
Let’s be clear: I’m not here to say that you can’t still take a nap during those unbelievably boring conference room meetings. But, c’mon, if that snoring continues while your Team Leader has the whiteboard pen in his hand, you’re gonna get shit-canned faster than you can say “reciprocal deliverables.” Fear not, sleepy cube rat — the Snore Stopper, when worn on your wrist like a fashionable, oversized PDA, will radiate harmless electric signals that stop your snoring in its tracks without disrupting your prized on-the-job slumber. Just remember, when you’re finally roused by the sound of your name, say, “Oh, yeah, I’m on it,” or, “Steve-O’s got that one covered, big guy.” No one will be the wiser.
Cost: $59.95
Employee personality: Lethargic

Cell Phone Flask
It’s not like you operate a forklift or escort schoolchildren across busy intersections. You’re a frickin’ electronic paper pusher. What’s the harm in sneaking a little of the afternoon hooch out of a 3 oz. flask disguised as a cell phone? So your spreadsheet has fucked up formatting or your PowerPoint presentation has more exclamation points than usual — you’re working for the man; drink up, compadre. Still, I think I’ll wait for the BlackBerry model to get my drunk on.
Cost: $24.99
Employee personality: Belligerent

Wireless Vibrating Nipple Clamps
Two visits to a therapist: $200. One month’s supply of OxyContin: $500. Discreetly applying electric shock to your erogenous zones while sitting in your cubicle: Priceless. These wireless vibrating nipple clamps should do the trick.
Cost: $30.60
Employee personality: Masochist

Executive Golf Cart Toy w/Meat & Cheese
Granted, not everyone loves meat and cheese (damn those vegan atheist anarchists!), but every office worker better like golf or else risk not getting promoted by the ubiquitous Phil Mickelson-adoring powers that be. Solution: prominently place this corporate logo wooden golf cart replica (filled with various nibblers, including meat and cheese) on your desk, sit back, and watch the supervisor compliments come rolling in. Each cart has working wheels and two sets of miniature clubs. Eating of included meat and cheese: your call.
Cost: $41.90
Employee personality: Suck-up

Mont Blanc Franz Kafka LE Fountain Pen
Most of us, when we think of Franz Kafka, the words “impulse buyer” come to mind. Well, we might also think of a quasi-cubicle drone so traumatised by his office environment he tweaks himself into a beetle and locks himself in his childhood bedroom whilst making high-pitched insect noises. This exquisite writing device would make either the doomed protagonist of that office ur-text, The Metamorphosis, or its author put a smile on his face. I’d go so far as to bet that if Kafka was on the Net job-blogging his way through a dead-end advertising gig right now, he’d buy, like, ten of these gaudy, eponymously named $725 Mont Blanc inkers and then blow off some afternoon cold calls to get a manicure and a Jamba Juice.
Cost: $725.00
Employee personality: Literary