"Corporate Comedy: The Case of the Possessed Boss"
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Sure! Here's a humorous take, steering clear of anything inappropriate and keeping it fun.
---
Work at Bennet & Finch Ltd. had always felt a bit like living under a cold, fluorescent sun—most of that coming directly from Ms. Tabitha Overmeyer, my boss. Thirty, red-blonde hair in a business bun, hot as a furnace and about as forgiving. The kind of woman whose mere clickety-clack of heels sent keyboards furiously clattering with fake productivity. She favored power suits but somehow made them look runway-ready, and—look, it takes a certain confidence to own your curves, and she drove hers like a luxury sports car.
Me? I’m Roger. The office clown. I make Mondays bearable with Spaghetti Western Fridays and strategic donut sprinkles raids. Unfortunately, Tabitha hated fun. Especially mine.
It started like this: I was making my world-famous “is-the-coffee-dead-or-alive” pantomime for the enjoyment of Janet and Sam in the break room, which naturally meant talking—probably a bit too loud—about the only good thing I could say about “the Overtastk-Meyer herself.” Specifically, that she was, and I quote, “smoking hot. Like, ‘cause-AI-to-short-circuit’ hot.”
Cue the sound of a throat being cleared in the doorway. Tabitha’s ice-blue eyes sliced through me like a grilled cheese (which I was, notably, NOT eating due to dumb HR rules). “My office. Now.”
She vanished, and I sprinted to the men’s, clutching my phone. My buddy, Carl, dabbled in super weird stuff. I’d seen him do “possession powers” at a Halloween party once. Desperate times.
Me: “DUDE! Tabitha heard everything. I’m dead. U gotta help. Possess her or something???”
Carl: “Lol sure. Give me a sec.”
The deed was done before my phone locked. I wiped imaginary sweat, straightened my not-quite-clean tie, and strode bravely toward my fate.
I found Tabitha in a… new pose. One hand on her own—let’s call it ‘ample’—backside, twisting slightly to inspect herself in the window reflection.
She looked at me, a grin splitting her usually icy face. “Dude, you didn’t tell me your boss was a chick!”
Carl had taken the wheel.
“Carl?!” I hissed, shutting the door.
She—he—grinned wider, wiggling Tabitha’s hips. “Holy—these pants are working *overtime*, bro. You undersold it! And this office—look at this chair! It RECLINES.”
He flopped back into the executive chair, spinning it once before trying to prop feet onto the desk. With Tabitha’s tight pencil skirt, this was a structurally unsound idea. He glanced down, then back up at me. “So, how’s the work environment? Is this the snack drawer?” He rummaged through her desk, pulling out a granola bar and two bottles of nail polish.
“I…can’t believe this is happening,” I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Carl, we need a plan. She’s going to wake up in an hour not knowing what happened.”
“An hour, huh?” He popped the granola bar, winking with Tabitha’s lashes. “Plenty of time.”
What followed was a masterclass in catastrophic management. Carl answered emails in ALL CAPS (“I BELIEVE IN YOUR GROWTH ~TABITHA”), deleted a week’s worth of boring calendar invites, and replaced the office hold music with ‘Call Me Maybe.’ He also hijacked the next all-hands Zoom and tried out Tabitha’s “supreme disapproval face,” except while making duck lips.
When Tabitha—the real one—came to, she found herself standing on her chair, clutching my old ‘World’s Okayest Employee’ mug like a trophy and leading the office in an impromptu conga line around the cubicles. She paused, eyes wild, as the music stopped.
“Roger,” she said, breathless, “get in my office. Now.”
Well, at least she was smiling.
---
After that, Tabitha’s reign of terror never quite recovered. The office plants sported sunglasses, we got Casual Thursdays to “bolster morale,” and occasionally she’d catch me making faces at the security camera and wink.
Whatever Carl did, I owed him. Even if now Tabitha sometimes muttered, “I can’t believe I did a twerk chain…” on her way to the printer.
I remind myself daily: Never underestimate the power of a little fun—and the right set of possession powers, in a pinch.
This story was generated by user zach3 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: My boss was very strict I was always about having fun at the office and she never liked that. The only good thing I could say about my boss is that she was super hot. I was talking in the break room about how hot I thought she was and she ended up hearing me and calling me into her office. I ran to the bathroom real quick and texted my buddy and asked him to use his possession powers on my boss. He agreed to do it. When I went into her office I found her with a hand on her ass feeling it. She looked at me and said “dude you didn’t tell me your boss was a chick” Write with good descriptions and good dialogue and give the characters names. My boss has reddish-blonde hair and an hourglass figure with big breasts and wide hips and a bodacious backside she is 30. I'd like a ton of detail maybe even add some post possessions scenes.
Response: Sure! Here's a humorous take, steering clear of anything inappropriate and keeping it fun. --- Work at Bennet & Finch Ltd. had always felt a bit like living under a cold, fluorescent sun—most of that coming directly from Ms. Tabitha Overmeyer, my boss. Thirty, red-blonde hair in a business bun, hot as a furnace and about as forgiving. The kind of woman whose mere clickety-clack of heels sent keyboards furiously clattering with fake productivity. She favored power suits but somehow made them look runway-ready, and—look, it takes a certain confidence to own your curves, and she drove hers like a luxury sports car. Me? I’m Roger. The office clown. I make Mondays bearable with Spaghetti Western Fridays and strategic donut sprinkles raids. Unfortunately, Tabitha hated fun. Especially mine. It started like this: I was making my world-famous “is-the-coffee-dead-or-alive” pantomime for the enjoyment of Janet and Sam in the break room, which naturally meant talking—probably a bit too loud—about the only good thing I could say about “the Overtastk-Meyer herself.” Specifically, that she was, and I quote, “smoking hot. Like, ‘cause-AI-to-short-circuit’ hot.” Cue the sound of a throat being cleared in the doorway. Tabitha’s ice-blue eyes sliced through me like a grilled cheese (which I was, notably, NOT eating due to dumb HR rules). “My office. Now.” She vanished, and I sprinted to the men’s, clutching my phone. My buddy, Carl, dabbled in super weird stuff. I’d seen him do “possession powers” at a Halloween party once. Desperate times. Me: “DUDE! Tabitha heard everything. I’m dead. U gotta help. Possess her or something???” Carl: “Lol sure. Give me a sec.” The deed was done before my phone locked. I wiped imaginary sweat, straightened my not-quite-clean tie, and strode bravely toward my fate. I found Tabitha in a… new pose. One hand on her own—let’s call it ‘ample’—backside, twisting slightly to inspect herself in the window reflection. She looked at me, a grin splitting her usually icy face. “Dude, you didn’t tell me your boss was a chick!” Carl had taken the wheel. “Carl?!” I hissed, shutting the door. She—he—grinned wider, wiggling Tabitha’s hips. “Holy—these pants are working *overtime*, bro. You undersold it! And this office—look at this chair! It RECLINES.” He flopped back into the executive chair, spinning it once before trying to prop feet onto the desk. With Tabitha’s tight pencil skirt, this was a structurally unsound idea. He glanced down, then back up at me. “So, how’s the work environment? Is this the snack drawer?” He rummaged through her desk, pulling out a granola bar and two bottles of nail polish. “I…can’t believe this is happening,” I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Carl, we need a plan. She’s going to wake up in an hour not knowing what happened.” “An hour, huh?” He popped the granola bar, winking with Tabitha’s lashes. “Plenty of time.” What followed was a masterclass in catastrophic management. Carl answered emails in ALL CAPS (“I BELIEVE IN YOUR GROWTH ~TABITHA”), deleted a week’s worth of boring calendar invites, and replaced the office hold music with ‘Call Me Maybe.’ He also hijacked the next all-hands Zoom and tried out Tabitha’s “supreme disapproval face,” except while making duck lips. When Tabitha—the real one—came to, she found herself standing on her chair, clutching my old ‘World’s Okayest Employee’ mug like a trophy and leading the office in an impromptu conga line around the cubicles. She paused, eyes wild, as the music stopped. “Roger,” she said, breathless, “get in my office. Now.” Well, at least she was smiling. --- After that, Tabitha’s reign of terror never quite recovered. The office plants sported sunglasses, we got Casual Thursdays to “bolster morale,” and occasionally she’d catch me making faces at the security camera and wink. Whatever Carl did, I owed him. Even if now Tabitha sometimes muttered, “I can’t believe I did a twerk chain…” on her way to the printer. I remind myself daily: Never underestimate the power of a little fun—and the right set of possession powers, in a pinch.
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