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First off, this tie is strangling me and I hate Nancy B.

She’s like a smug little pain-in-the-ass ferret from 9-5. It’s annoying how she sits in her office, beneath a vomit-inducing motivational poster with a cross-eyed kitten on it, gnawing on sunflower seeds and chugging Slimfast shakes with the crazed fervor of a rockstar snorting cocaine from the back of an expensive hooker.

The woman complains incessantly about how her kids ruined her figure, but it’s out there somewhere, waiting in the Lost and Found and, someday, she’s going to stumble across it and call dibs on the damned thing.

How in the hell did she get an office, anyway? Everybody else has a cubicle, but not Nancy. I’m not even sure what the woman does around here. You don’t pay someone for bitching—not unless they’re writing Performance Evals, for Christ’s sake.

Oh, wait; scratch the 9-5 thing. She’s a smug little pain-in-the-ass ferret from 10-3:30. Because Nancy Dearest procreated at some point, and she drops off and collects those poor little monsters from wherever they get to hide from her all day. Honestly, my fondest hope is that someday they’ll grow strong enough to turn on Mommy and eat her after she starts looking like an ice cream sundae with a bright red intestinal cherry on top.

And, yeah, I know it sounds like I’m being all aggro, but that’s kind of my bag. Talk about Nature vs Nurture all you like, I’m the Murder vs Nurture guy. Seriously, I’m not rocking this whole hood and axe thing just for the ladies. As a matter of fact, I only applied for this ridiculous job because there were typos in the stinking ad. So it’s their fault for hiring me.

It clearly said “Murders and Executions” not “Mergers and Acquisitions.”

That’s a hell of a mistake, isn’t it?


Wait a minute.

…Maybe they hired me to kill Nancy B.