apocalypsos | A note regarding my illustrious (albeit idiotic) co-workers.

Herein lies my dilemma. Today, I shall travel to the great and terrible land of Shipping Clerks to battle the Brotherhood of Evil Dumbasses. You'd think I wouldn't miss the previous dictator, a cruel, vicious beast who wailed and gnashed her fangs and stole all my Lorna Doones, but alas, these foul demons bring shame and stupidity to the forefront and leave tragedy and muttered German curses in their wake. Therefore, smiting today will be scheduled throughout the day. Please choose your inevitable horrific death carefully, as yours truly, while being a fair and just leader, is also a right lazy wanker when it comes to carpet cleaning.

The schedule for smiting is thus:

12:00 p.m: ODing on iron pills in an attempt to become Colossus.
12:30 p.m: Halle Berry. No elaboration needed.
1:00 p.m: Dipped in ketchup and fed to dragons.
1:30 p.m: Diced in lemon juice and eaten by squirrels.
2:00 p.m: A shot of Red Bull and tequila filled with broken glass.
2:30 p.m: Stepped on by Godzilla.
3:00 p.m: Burned to death with intermittent jabs by my hair straightener.
3:30 p.m: Viewing any ten minutes of House of 1000 Corpses.
4:00 p.m: Microwaved in a bowl of prune juice.
4:30 p.m: Poisonous frog juggling.
5:00 p.m: A rabid ferret down your pants.
5:30 p.m: Listening to me sing.
6:00 p.m: Two hours locked in a bathroom stall with Bobcat Goldthwait, circa 1987.
6:30 p.m: Drowned in a pool of Angel's angst.
7:00 p.m: Strangled by monkeys.
7:30 p.m: Catching a bowling ball with your teeth.
8:00 p.m: Making Pop-Tarts in the bathtub.
8:30 p.m: Standing outside in a thunderstorm and yelling, "Zeus is a fucking pussy!"
9:00 p.m: Licking every electrical outlet in my office.
9:30 p.m: Forced at gunpoint to sign up for a reality TV show.
10:00 p.m: Getting tonsillitus and attempting to swallow Excalibur.

Please sign up for your untimely demise with the Grand Attempts Department Poobah immediately upon notification of whatever lousy joke of a job you've done, as spots are limited, as is my access to small dangerous animals of questionable health.

...

Okay, how bad is it that I'm seriously thinking of posting this on my office door?