It all began innocuously enough. One day, CEO Doug Imbruce, brought each employee an animal-ninja action figure for their desk. Then, a few weeks later, the OTR mastermind left little Swedish dolls as trinkets by their computers. It seemed benign enough to the writers, who, typing innocently away about the John Edwards sex scandal and amphetamines, naively ignored the possibility of the slippery slope.

Then the world of OTR was turned upside-down, inside-out, and in any other diametrically-opposed direction. Where once the walls had stood pristine and white and regal, they now had been plastered with life-sized cardboard people. Doug, that mad scientist, had decided to construct a fun office!

In Sam’s dwelling, Sylvester Stalone assumed a fighting stance. Fabio and Barack Obama stood guard over Paul’s corner. Hector was nestled between Homer Simpson and the King of Rock ‘N’ Roll himself, Elvis Presley. By Tracy’s desk, her arch nemesis, John McCain frowned next to a six foot tall dirty martini, and in their proximity, her heart was torn between joy at the sight of the enormous martini and anathema for the presence of a two-dimensional John McCain in her line of vision.

In the dizzying array of cardboard people, the editors attempted to work. Michael, the COO of espresso machine fame, suggested the purchase of a hotdog carousel. What was happening to OTR? Was it all a dream? Would they arrive at work the next day only to realize that their computers had been replaced by pinball machines? Questions mounted, but there was one certitude: it was the day OTR became Spencer’s Gift Shop.