Buy These Gloves Or Sandy Will Destroy Me

Sandy commutes into work last Thursday...
Seriously, all kidding aside, Sandy has a temper like a drunk, Egyptian pharaoh. Prone to unreasonable demands and the occasional sarcophagus crammed with gold statues and mummified vendors, she rages against the Blog on an hourly basis, hurling insults at me like a hobo hurls baked bean tins at an open fire while on an ether binge. The Blog has taken to wearing turtlenecks around the office to hide the bruises from Sandy's daily throttling, its neck sore from the Homer Simpson-esque abuse as Sandy demands I fetch her a de-caf frappacino and the lastest issue of Conde Nast. How will the Blog's suffering be alleviated? Noose? Carbon monoxide party in my garage? No, sadly, the only way out is for these TSG gloves to leave our warehouse post-haste!!! End my suffering.