I'll make you a deal. You can see my desk, but only if you make a sacrificial offering to Ugly Squidward

In the wake of James and Julian showing off their delightful collections of prize hog pictures and ugly contoured mouse mats, I too have volunteered as tribute to announce to the world that I don't work in a fancy office. No, instead I sit in a seedy den in the corner of my bedroom, and I'm not protected by the watchful gaze of Caesar, the wise, benevolent pig, or an oceanic Cornish coaster. My friend Ugly Squidward keeps me company, whispering secrets into my ear.