by Jimmy Boegle
We're on deadline, and everything came to a screeching halt, because there was A SCORPION in the production department. Veronica, the advertising department goddess, scooped it up in a box while I ran into a corner and hid.
The scorpion—which Arek the designer, who drinks too much Red Bull, named "Orland"—was taken outside and freed. Orland, who I should point out was HUGE and SCARY, will live to see another day, and scare the hell out of more people.
Do you think the mamby pamby journalists at The New York Times have to deal with things like this? I THINK NOT.