The Black Death

I came into the office today to run smack into a co-worker yielding a can of Lysol like a Katana.
“Are you sick?” she asked, I inquired if she was referring to my physical, spiritual or mental well being. That in any case Lysol will not help the voices in my head telling me to kill all humans. She informed me that “everyone” was sick and they weren’t going to get her.
“Nice, Howard Hughes.”
“What? Does that old playboy bunny guy not like to get sick? How can he help it with all those blonds around?” She started to explain to me that everyone but her where plague carriers and they she can not get sick.
“I’ve got a car payment.”
She had been going around spraying everything with Lysol. It’s only October and she’s beginning to act like a Lysol wielding Church of England in 1665. I then suggested that we might want to burn their cubicles to the ground in a scorched earth policy to stop the Black Death. She turned on her heels to go get matches. My coffee tastes Lysoly.