Every time I glance over at Adam's desk, my OCD kicks in—I get an overwhelming urge to tear away the balloons that have been strapped to the limbs of the giant giraffe since before the birth of Stonewall Strom. Isn't he, like, five now?

I was surprised they made it through the move to the mezz, but am absolutely dumbfounded they are still partially afloat. I propose we all murder them and have a brief, laughter-filled party in which we inhale the tiny bit of helium left in their sad, lifeless balloon-bodies.

Who's with me?