PowerPoint Me to the Nearest Sledgehammer

You’ve got to be kidding right? You can’t just hand me a 17-slide PowerPoint document and expect me to “make it look good.” You may as well gorge out my eyes with burning sabers of methane gas and ceremoniously sacrifice my body over an open barbecue pit in the name of good taste.

No amount of “creative shaping” or “expandable flow linkage” will save your monstrous creation, which has now grown toes and is eating spare pretzels from the kitchen on the second floor. You’ve managed to breathe life into the Joan Rivers of business documents: an impenetrable fortress of mismatched forms and nonsense, wailing, screeching, unbearable to witness and unwilling to die.

I must have missed the memo, or maybe they teach such insanity in MBA programs, but I can’t comprehend how so many people in positions of authority can possibly deem it necessary to pepper presentations with bulbous basketball-sized bullet points or gradients the width of Texas. What brain-hemorrhaging savant thought it a great idea to arm middle management with easily insertable clip-art seemingly drawn and colored by a four-year-old in a coma?

So, please, just take your blocked-up flow document and shove it down your pipe in the bucket of cycles littering your plate. Genericize your templatized macros until your fingers bleed the color of our profit margin. I’m sure everyone in that meeting will ooh the ahh out of himself over the master slide, altogether comparable to this in scope:


* There was a beginning.
* Something here about stuff.
* Then Britney.