I have more leftover booze than I have leftover food. So, this is how I die. PGP.

WHY AM I STILL HERE? PGP.

I’m not one to complain about free catered lunches, but enough with the Subway party trays. PGP.

Having a Buzz Lightyear Mrs. Nesbitt-type meltdown during happy hour. PGP.

I don’t feel happy anymore when I get paid. Just guilt. PGP.

Button just popped off my pants. I’m giving a presentation in 20 minutes. My belt hides it, but I don’t know what will hide my shame. PGP.

We hired two “quality control officers” to monitor office productivity. My office literally just brought in “The Bobs.” PGP.

Immediately making lunch plans via Gchat upon sitting at your desk on Monday. PGP.

I’ve been showing up early for work for two months because I was in line for a promotion. Company outsourced the hire. I now have three conference calls a week with someone named Samar. PGP.

My boss said “We’re done beating around the bush” today and instead of laughing, I just thought about how little sex I’m having. PGP.