The HR lady sat down at her desk and motioned for me to sit down as well.
“What about Bob?” I asked, staring at him still stuck to the wall.
She opened a drawer and took out a staple gun.
She aimed it at the body and commenced firing.
Each time a staple struck, Bob spasmed and groaned in his high pitched voice.
After emptying the gun into his body there was one last spasm and groan before he finally slid down the wall and landed on the floor with a tiny “plop”.
Then, 15 phone books were stacked on a chair.
The HR lady called security and they came in, picked up Bob, placed him on top of the phone books and duct taped him so he couldn’t run away.
He was now able to barely see over the desk.
We began.
“Now, Bob. I have a question or two I need to ask,” said the HR lady.
Bob squirmed in his seat.
“Questions? You have questions and I have answers. Yes, indeedy-do!” he screeched.
His taped legs twitched a bit, as if he were trying to dance.
“Great! That’s kind of exactly what I want to hear!” said the HR lady with forced excitement.
“Heigh ho, hi ho, question me yippee yippee yeeeeeee!” screeched Bob.
“Did you make a statement claiming that ‘chickens are stupid dirty bastards, just like Stephen Johnson?’” she asked.
We stared at Bob as he twitched his legs and licked the tip of his nose.
He then looked at me, a single tear rolling down his face.
Then he looked at the HR lady.
“Nopey nope, slo mo, nope. I did not state that,” he said in a soft screech.
The HR lady slammed her fists down on the desk.
“Well, then. We have no case here!” she said, slamming a book shut.
I was horrified, shocked, dismayed, stunned and aghast.
Bob looked at me and grinned.
Then he winked.
