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The ideal candidate will be punched in the stomach
The description suggests that this is some kind of extended metaphor about work. It appears to be written in that _Choose Your Own Adventure_ style second-person voice, yet there are no choices to be found within. Against your better judgment, you follow the link.
The sense of impending dread you’ve experienced during your time spent in the Jackson conference room—now serving as the home for a large stack of flattened cardboard boxes in addition to the growing fleet of damaged gaming chairs— who keeps breaking all these chairs? You have transcended sadness and rode that feeling all the way past hopelessness, depression, simple cynicism, and have arrived in a place so utterly devoid of meaning that you have at one point idly considered what might happen if you cut both of Chris’s arms off with a band saw. You know, getting real drunk, riding a mechanical bull, getting a dumbass rose–and–Celtic cross tattoo, things that might more appropriately be called “spontaneous” or “free-spirited.” Experiences you could package up in a neat little box, present to the person asking the question, and move on.
Or read this on Hacker News
