All I want for Christmas this year is a Norse pagan scorn-pole. No new gadgets, no new clothes, not even any new books or vinyl records. All I want is a long wooden pole with a dead horse’s head stuck on the end of it that I can use to curse people with. Usually, the pole is carved with magic runes, but I can do that part myself.

I want a scorn-pole because I plan to use it against my coworkers in the new year.

Now—wait, wait, wait—hear me out: they deserve to be scorned.

Seriously, I can’t wait to scorn Debbie with a soul-damning heathen curse. This past year she pretended to be sick just to get out of an assignment and dumped it on me not once, not twice, not even three times. She did that to me four times. That’s how she earned her nickname Debbie Dumps after all. But once I have my trusty scorn-pole, the next time she tries to pull that shit, her nickname is going to take on a hot new meaning because she’ll be suffering from a very different kind of dumps for at least a week. Know what I mean?

Better take a seat and hold on for dear life, Debbie! Serves her right.

‘Cause the thing is, these are just awful, awful people. I’ve been silently scorning them for years and I’m ready to take it up a notch and really stick it to them—with a decapitated horse head and powerful pagan curses. I don’t need any help to perform the ritual. I’ve learned a lot about doing things all on my own without any help whatsoever thanks to my job.

Teamwork my ass.

Jerk-Off Jason is a solid example of a typical team player. This guy never does anything; he doesn’t even know what his left hand is doing from his right. I have to regularly use his materials in my own work and no amount of poking and prodding can get him to actually finish satisfactorily, much less in a timely fashion. So, next time he totally blows me off, I’m going to make sure he really can’t control those hands of his on our next office-wide Zoom call.

Scorn-pole for the win! That’s what I call a stroke of genius.

And speaking of Zoom calls, we better not forget Tommy Teabags. I got up to 69 back in March for the number of times he’s interrupted me on our office Zoom calls this year before I lost count. He’s always drinking that herbal tea with the tag dangling over the edge of his mug. So, next time he cuts me off, his teabag is going to jump out of that damn mug and straight into his pie hole and gag him for good.

There’s your fucking teabag, Tommy!

It’s Christmastime now, so I know it’s a time to come together and be grateful for friends and family and appreciate the little things in life. But let me remind you: office coworkers are neither friends nor family. I mean these people aren’t friendly little elves; they’re assholes. I do have a newfound appreciation for all the little things that they did this past year, though. Which is exactly why I want a scorn-pole.

But anyway, thanks for listening, Santa. And don’t forget: I want a scorn-pole. I’ve been good this year. Maybe next year I’ll deserve to get coal in my stocking, but it’ll be so worth it!

I guess I’ll get off your lap now before the mall cops come and get me.


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