My boss—pasty, annoying, arrogant—has arranged a pull-up and push-up contest. Yep, seriously. He’s in cut-off sleeves. Also wearing a sweatband, camelbak, and heart-rate monitor. Unbelievable. He hops on the bar, agonizingly reps out 2 pull-ups, and hops off, dusting his hands with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “If you guys worked your core and prime movers like me, you’d be way more productive. Why don’t you get on the bar, Candice?” Candice shakes her head no, and he scoffs disgustedly and asks someone else. Nobody’s participating. He gets on his belly to do some push-ups, grunting and trying to give us hardcore smiles like he’s about to charge an enemy hill or something. I roll my eyes and open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. He’s on the ground, arms shuddering as he’s knocking out his ninth push-up, when suddenly a storm of bees surround him, stinging the crap out of him. “NO!” he yells. “MUST….ACHIEVE…PERSONAL…RECORD…” He grinds out his ninth push-up and then collapses, screaming for help. We’re exiting the building and none of us, NONE of us, can help ourselves from bursting out in laughter.