There are many dangerous jobs around the world. Soldier. Miner. Firefighter. Sweatshop worker. A corporate job for a Fortune 500 company shouldn’t be one of them. Yet, I am sitting in my office suffering from nausea and teary eyes that are the result of a gas attack launched by my Vice President. Picture if you will a cross between Andy Warhol and a retarded kid. That's my VP. His incompetence and utter lack of communication skills would be bearable except he has eccentricities that are simply intolerable. This goober of a man eats nothing but bagels and health bars, which mixes with the army issue coffee he gulps down every morning, to create a toxic gas worse than anything that could be unleashed by Osama. His gas travels with a speed and determination that can only be described as weapons-grade. The foul odor has lingered in my office for the pass hour. I walk down the hall, away from ground zero. No luck. His repugnant gas has spread throughout the floor. I must get out. Leave the women and children behind.
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