So at work today, the office manager decides that she's going to celebrate her demented love for [I can barely type this] Celine Dion.
One @#$%^%$&* album...over and over and over...each song more weepy and histrionic than the last.
You would have thought she would have noticed the rest of us in the office, after 2 hours of this, holding our hands over our ears and screaming over and over, "For the love of God, make it STOP!!!" but no, each repeated playing of every sappy song only seemed to increase her blissful rapture.
Tomorrow, I'm going to take her CD player and, after feeding it through the big, industrial document shredder, hire a deaf person to flush the confettied remnants down the toilet.