Congratulations on Your Incredibly Popular Office Shooting!

You were fired yesterday by your tremendous prick of a boss for the dumbest fucking reason imaginable. Normally you’re level enough that you would just wait for your unemployment to come through and enjoy a nice “fuck you” vacation, but this is coming at a bad time. You’ve just had your novel rejected by a publisher a few days ago, your roommate decided to convert to Christianity and won’t shut up about it, and the grocery store will be out of normal sized Cheez-Its today, so you’ll have to buy those ridiculously huge ones instead.

All of these factors will combine to lead you to your decision to tromp into work with a load pistol and take out some of that good old fashioned American aggression on the man who made your life a living hell for so long.

You’ll strut into the office right past the sleeping security guards outside, a pistol with the safety on carefully tucked into your waistband. You’ll stalk the cubicles, looking for the stupid fucker who, shocker, will be at his desk updating his Facebook profile when you find him.

You’ll stand behind him for a while, just waiting for him to turn and notice you, reading over his shoulder, but he’ll never even notice. Not until you lean over his shoulder, press the gun to the base of his skull and start pointing out the various spelling errors in his post.

His eyes will go wide when he realizes what it is pressing into the back of his head, and tears will start to well in his eyes. Before you’ve even gotten to his paragraph format descriptions you’ll smell something a lot like pee and you’ll hear him whimper a little. Just before he starts weeping openly you’ll pull the trigger, splattering what used to be his skull all over his corner window, and on to a good portion of his fifteen inch monitor and your face for good measure.

Then you’ll stroll out of his cube to universal accolade as your former co-workers cheer you on. By the time you get to the elevator they’ll have you up on their shoulders, chanting your name like you just hit a home run in office softball. And when they hand you over the cops at your request (to the police’s bafflement) they’ll just start booing.

Even as they load you into the car the cops will look at you like you’re some sort of mystery, a god of sorts, a man who, if not for their diligence and your honesty, could have gotten away with murder.

Congratulations on Your Incredibly Popular Office Shooting!