From a Fellow MSB Sufferer

This is a story sent in by a reader. . . my first reader-submitted content!

Okay so today I would like to speak about MSB and her no-friend-having ass mandating a work sports function. Several summers ago MSB in her infinite wisdom decided to invent an event of team building and fun. She decided that we as an office of 6 would go play beach volleyball after work.

She did not ask if anyone would like to participate in her new venture but more or less used her Boss status to make us appear. Allow me to set the mood: it would start with MSB saying "your coming to play today? Right?" and then i would start to say, "Well I gotta .... " and she would finish that sentence with "You gotta come play." Not wanting to upset the bipolar bear waiting to come out, I would succomb to the request.

As previously mentioned MSB has an issue with Time. It is her arch f***ing enemy. During the summer it stays light enough to be on the beach until 7:30p-8p before it is too dark to safely play volleyball. You would think that one might allow their "team" a chance to decompress from work then get together and play games. Maybe take off an hour early to go home, change clothes and get your game face on. Not MSB.

We would not leave the office unitl 6:30p sometimes 7 and then head to the beach with one hour to play if lucky. Now MSB is not the most athletically inclined. Remember the kids in grade school who always got picked last for sports? They would pick her last. She arrives to play on the beach in a long sleeve shirt, pajama pants and a hat that would make the women at the Kentucky Derby jealous. Her moves are not stealth. . . shit her moves are not moves. She would barely participate all the meanwhile making excuses at every opportunity as to why she could not help the team. So we would play until dusk and then MSB would suggest that we all go eat. At this opportunity I would say enough is enough and I need to leave. Let me tell you how bad I wanted to leave...One time the under ground tunnel to get to and from the beach was flooded, not New Orleans flooded but it was a good 2 feet deep cesspool of murky, algae-growin', green bubble-poppin', urine swirlin', dead bird soakin', funk . I sprinted through that tunnel faster than Usain Bolt just to escape the aura that is M(former)SB.