You deserve a fresh-baked muffin today.
I’ve been watching you, and you’ve been working really hard. I mean, I wouldn’t say you’ve been working smart, but you’ve made a lot of people’s lives marginally better, or at least little worse, than if you had chosen instead to smear their faces with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter and dropped them in a pit full of anacondas, rattlesnakes, and rattlecondas. Some of your reports were turned in on time, and a few of them only had the kind of mistakes that the smart people we know could decipher without having to call you, so we’re going to call that a win.
Congratulations! Have a muffin!
Why, no, I’m not actually sure what kind of muffin it is. It seems sort of vaguely bran-like, but maybe there’s some banana in there or an excessive quantity of cinnamon or maybe it has no flavor at all and it just got overly browned in the oven. It doesn’t matter. It’s a reward. Have it!
Look, the rest of them got eaten. So I’m sure this last one is fine. But just in case—if we’re working with a serial killer trying to poison people to satisfy his or her sick fantasies—we’ve taken a vote and you’re the one we’d most like to die.
That’s not entirely hypothetical. We’ve all got our suspicions about Juliet over in finance. (Note that she only came sixth on our poll of who we’d most like to die—her stories at the last Christmas party were delightful, especially the one about the incontinent rhinocerous and the mating dragonflies. Her sound effects were on fleek.)
So eat the fucking muffin, or so help me, I’ll shoot you myself.
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