Yeah, you know who we’re talking about. It’s 2:30PM and you’ve finally shaken the post-lunch grogginess. You’re actually doing work again instead of just trying to figure out how much shit the other dudes in your office will give you if you finally step up and bang the one really slutty receptionist this weekend. But then it happens. You get a whiff of the most potent scent combination on the planet: artificial butter and burnt corn kernels.

You look up to see that stupid bitch that eats popcorn strolling out of the break room with a bucket big enough to refill a pig trough. Why is she leaving the fucking break room? you ask yourself. Why leave the one place suitable for eating ungodly amounts of that smelly shit?

You know where she’s heading. She sits right by you. You hold onto the sliver of hope that she’s just doing someone a favor and about to hand off the bucket, that way the rest of your day won’t be like working from the circus concession stand. But no, that’s just wishful thinking.

She plops down right fucking next to you. And not only do you have to deal with the smell and the fact that this wench can’t figure out how to pull the bag out of the microwave when there’s two seconds between pops to keep the shit from burning, but now your senses are so piqued you hear every single crunch and smack and chomp she makes. You’re pretty sure you just heard her lick her fingers.

You once tried to explain to some other coworkers how much this popcorn ritual sucks, but they weren’t too bothered, which wasn’t much of a surprise to you seeing that you work with a bunch of spineless sheep. So you’ve coughed, you’ve sneezed, you’ve groaned. Of course this bitch is too oblivious to notice.

Now you’re down to your last option. It’s time to grab a beer at Applebee’s and plot her death on a cocktail napkin.

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