The High Priestess of Accounting—sporting a garland of shrunken writers’ heads around her neck—offers me a skull-bowl filled with the life blood of a hapless artist.  “Drink,” she whispers.  Her ash-smudged eyes widen within their sockets, combining with the rest of her chalky, white-painted face to transform her into something not quite human.  “Drink,” she…

The last of us true dog lovers are holding off an advancing force of chihuahua enthusiasts (you know that they’re really cats who’ve donned a dog-suit, right?) in a desperate, nameless stretch of desert in the American southwest.  I’m glassing the enemy force, making sure they’re not trying anything funny.  In my mind, I’m thinking we’re…

Remember when 3PO is getting escorted through Jabba’s palace in Return and he sees that power droid getting branded?  Remember how it screamed as the hot metal pressed against its feet?  That’s what I sound like as Martha Stewart lowers a stylized loop of heated iron—in the shape of “M-Diddy,” of course—onto my bare ass.  “Nononono…

“Kill….me.”  The words slip out from the pale, bloodless lips of one of my coworkers.  His hands are bunched around the fabric of his slacks, creating two, sweat-soaked mounds of tense wrinkles.  I try to comfort him but I can’t speak.  All of us are held in thrall by the miasmic evil that is…POWERPOINT.  As…