Let’s say I have this employee who is also a blogger. For the sake of anonymity, I’ll refer to this person as Shmitt*.
Shmitt is suffering from severe PMS right now. How do I know? Simple:
Shmitt enters the office.
“Good morning!” I say cheerfully.
“Fuck off. I will carve out your eyeballs and pop them like grapes!” she snarls.
“You look nice today.”
“You’re such a mealymouthed little fucker – don’t patronize me or I will tie your balls around your neck and drown you in your toilet!”
“Is there anything I can do for you to make you feel better?”
“Yeah, you can stop fucking looking at me with those beady little eyes of yours. I’m about a half second from slicing your face into strips, cooking them like bacon and eating them! Go in your office and don’t you dare say another word or I swear to fucking God I will set your pubes on fire and then piss on them to put it out. I will rip out your tongue and stick it up your ass, then put it back in your mouth. I will smack you so hard that the world ends in the year 2084. I will put both my feet up your ass, dance a hoedown, and then drive a Zamboni in there. I will carve my initials into your forehead and brand my name to your cheek. I will go back in time, get your father to impregnate me instead of your mother with you, and then have you aborted. I will tweeze your entire nutsack and then superglue the hair to your palms. I will send this whole fucking planet into the sun. I will bleach your hair, slap you until you’re pink, and call you Albino Boy. I will deep-freeze your body and stick you to a metal pole. I will reach down your throat, rip out your soul, and replace it with Celine Dion’s. I will sell your family into white slavery, your kidneys on the black market, your hair to a pubic wig company, and your toys to a little boy who likes to blow things up.”
“Okay, okay . . . I’m sor-”
“WRAAARARAARARARAAGGGHHHHHHARARAGAHHHGHGAGAR!!!!”
If nobody hears from me over the next 24 hours, please call the Army to come save me.
* This is an entirely fictional account, and any reference to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Shmitt has actually been very nice and awesome over the last two days, and I’m not just saying that because she’s got me in a headlock and is repeatedly punching me in the groin.
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Twitter: Amanda234
says:
wow schmitt is graphic when angry
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you just made me giggle like a school girl. If you see shmitt again, tell her I feel the SAME way right now
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Twitter: Readerwrites
says:
Encourgae Shmitt to take her psyche meds. I recommend Don’FuckUp, 150mg, twice a day, plus up to a 2mg of Xanax a day.
Or, you could just fire her.
Just saying.
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My husband could have written this post. I may send him over here to read it.
Since I’m on the other side of the country and know that the fictional Schmitt is a tight-wad and thus will not spring for a plane ticket – not even for murder, I can honestly say, I feel for you. Hide under your desk and throw out the occasional bag of potato chips. I hear she likes salty stuff.
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LAMO @ Amy
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Why the hell isn’t all of that creativity part of my PMS package??! :crazywife:
If we call the Army, they’ll most likely have to shoot her with a tranquilizer gun, and it would be a travesty to stifle all of that creativity. Besides, it would be kind of cool to see all of that gorilla fur bleached.
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I don;t think the Army is going to help you, Avi.. in fact- no power on the face of this planet would- youare dealing with a dangerous and ungodly force of nature. Best to get in a hole, and pull it in after you.
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Twitter: http://whall.org/blog
says:
Dontcha love it when you say “you look nice today”
reply: “what, I looked like crap yesterday?!?!?!?”
or “your hair looks nice”
reply: “so what you’re saying is I’m FAT?!?!”
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Hey, I don’t know why you’re complaining, all of this still sounds like one of my better PMS days. But the boys know how to handle it:
Keep your security margin and always have a chocolate bar in your pocket. Admit that you are an asshole and just don’t ask, cause it’S always your fault anyway and it just costs precious time and energy to scream … uhm, I mean explain to you why that is so.
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Maybe if she writes about her PMS in her blog she’ll feel better?
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I’m stealing the line about ripping out your soul … except I’d replace it with Martha Stewart’s soul.
:pissed:
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Twitter: Blogography
says:
Spike Ms. Schmitt’s water with Midol and run… RUN AWAY!!
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Twitter: hismuse
says:
That’s pretty much what I say to Erik every night when he gets home from work.
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GOOD MORNING???
YOU SPOKE TO HER BEFORE NOON???
What the fuck were you thinking? I’m sorry, but I think you earned that one! :crazywife:
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Twitter: Whatsananna
says:
There are pubic wigs??????
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LMAO@ Wayne and MM
Don’t you know you should always just put down the chocolate and back away slowly.
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Woah, dude. Perhaps you should STFU about it.
(But, that was hilarious!)
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Amanda, she’s graphic when she’s happy, sad, and sleeping, too.
BPR, her evil isn’t funny!
Nina, I’d be lucky if she didn’t fire me!
Amy, she might spring for a ticket for murder.
Girl, Dislocated, I’d be a creepy looking albino!
MsFreud, we might have to go nuclear.
Wayne, then you just say “Yes” and run for your life.
Julia, so I shouldn’t keep walking behind her and kicking her in the butt instead?
RW, yeah, that didn’t work.
Cap, that’s even worse!
Dave, the drugs – they do nothing!
Robin, every night? Are you PMSing 365 days a year?
Metalmom, ooh, good point. What was I thinking?
Mom, yup. They’re called merkins.
Turnbaby, she’s got me cornered.
Poppy, just wait until she reads this post!
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Seriously.
*duck*
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That Shmitt is my muthafuckin’ hero!!!
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Ummm…I don’t see what the problem is. Sounds to me like she loves you.
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Amy, Amy, Amy… ye of little faith in the lengths I will go to for revenge…
And Adam?
Lock your office door.
And sleep with one eye open.
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Britt, honey, seriously, I want you to consider that traveling for murder will not get you tagged as “jet-set-ey” Remember, that, ok!!! :heartbeat: :heartbeat: :heartbeat: :heartbeat: :heartbeat:
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You obviously need the PMS Survival Guide.
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Well THAT is a matter of perspective.
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My only question is this: why’d you forget to wear your cup? I know they’re uncomfortable, but PMS is dangerous, man. Got to protect yourself. Didn’t you read the handbook?
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You had Bossy at “office”. She just loves a professional…
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Twitter: thegoddesscher
says:
I am just curious, when did I start working for you????
Hm.
CP
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Ha! I bet you did something to deserve that. Allegedly.
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I thought you WERE Celine.
shit.
:bukkake:
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I’m trying to figure out what Britt, um I mean Shmitt, said wrong. It all sounds prefectly fine to me
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Mmmmm…. BACON!
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Poppy, I’m wearing a helmet, luckily.
TMP, she’s more like a supervillain.
Trish, just wait until she gets going!
Britt, you look very nice today.
Amy, we’re both in trouble.
Lynda, I’ll check that out.
Vox Clamatis, I wasn’t thinking straight, clearly.
Bossy, by office I mean my room with my toys and comics where I work in my underwear.
CP, aren’t all PMSy women the same?
ADW, never!!!! That conversation is word for word.
Tug, well, my heart will go on.
Crazy Lady, she’s supposed to save that good stuff for her husband.
Bobgirrl, it takes a bacon comment to get you out of hiding?
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Watch out, Avi. I read “Shmitt” ‘s PMS post and you are in very real danger! Hide now and lay low for about a week.
Good luck.
J.
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I think my favorite is the part about the nutsack tweezing.
Hurry up and do that video post before Fab steals your idea.
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So… what’s the problem?
Just kidding.
At least you didn’t get any tears. Or did you, at the end? Was that crying or garbled anger? Maybe you already answered that in your comments section. Guess I should read them before I start writing my own.
Or just lay off the sauce before I comment.
Anyway, good luck! Don’t forget to wear your cup!
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HG5, I feared for my life for awhile.
Janna, sounds like fun, does it?
Sybil, that was garbled anger.
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sounds like me on a good PMS day. as for the ‘pubic wigs’, they are called mirkins in the film industry. don’t ask me how i know that…
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DCA, did you know that a merkin is also a man who dates a lesbian so that she appears heterosexual? Like Oprah’s s.o.
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