Right as your digging into your work load, your boss barges on into the room with a box and clears his throat loudly, getting everyone's attention. "Ah good, I see most of you already have them out, hand them over." He says, not bothering to walk to the various cubicles himself.
You can already guess what he's asking... excuse me, demanding everyone to hand over. "Excuse me!? Are you seriously asking everyone to just hand over their genitals to you?" You stand up and look down at your boss, Mr. Pinkerton, a smaller man than even Jerry, with an absolutely horrible last name for running a business with.
"No... Mr. ******* (insert your name here), I'm demanding everyone hand over their penises, and in some cases vaginas," He spares a glance at the few women around the office. "failure to do so is grounds for termination, by the way." He smiles up at you, clearly affected by "little man's disease.
Your tempted to tell him to go fuck himself, but bite your tongue and take a more diplomatic approach. "We will be getting them back at the end of the day, yes?" You give him a look that states in no uncertain terms there will be hell to pay if that answer is no.
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