You know, I'm amazed that she hasn't found herself a new job yet. With special skills such as vigorous stapling, boisterous counting, inexplicable desk pounding, and the audible consumption of potato chips (impressive enough to be heard at least a block away), not to mention her jarring outbursts at impossible to predict moments, you'd think that the nation's top employers would be fighting to get her to work for them.

That said, if she corrects me one more time in a meeting for not using gender-neutral pronouns (as if she doesn't plaster signs of her rampant feminism all over her cube, next to her therapy-drawings and oh-so-clever bumper stickers), I'm going after her with a hammer. A male one.