If we ladies are, well, pretty much anywhere alone, it’s only a matter of time before a man tries to rescue us from our apparently miserable solo-tude by engaging us in unwanted small talk. But now there’s help! Introducing Leave Me Alurn, Saturday Night Live’s “little urn” to freak dudes out and deter them from further ruining our “me” time with irritating chit-chat about the possibility of rain and our current dating status.

Mace. A Taser. A sawed-off shotgun. Alurn.

We previously offered five helpful pointers for dads-to-be who want to pose memorably in maternity portraits — and we now continue our series of family portrait suggestions with six tips for making sure your pet doesn’t completely upstage you in your family portrait.

1.  Never underestimate the importance of positioning.

2.  Remember the old saying, “No cat can compete with a naked man in a Christmas tree.”

3.  Think to yourself, WWKD?  (What would the Kardashians do?)

4.  Don’t be afraid to bare your, um, personality.

5.  Family portrait rule of thumb:  You can never go wrong with a nifty laser background and even niftier mullet.

Actually, it’s pretty much impossible to not get upstaged by animals.  (Same rule applies to posing with babies, pregnant bellies and Victoria’s Secret models)

6.  So if you can’t outshine ’em, join ’em.

It all started with a particularly dumb Laffy Taffy joke: “Q: What kind of key doesn’t open a lock?” A: A monkey.” I became so enraged by its stupidity–MONKEYS ARE SMART! WHY DO YOU PRESUME THEY CAN’T OPEN A SIMPLE LOCK?!–that I shoved the offending wrapper in my mouth. And here’s the thing: I didn’t hate it.

So I tore open another candy with a frustratingly illogical joke. Then another. Before you know it, I had eaten nothing but Laffy Taffy wrappers for seven days.

That’s right. No coffee. No wine. No side of ketchup to add any semblance of flavor.

Just piles and piles of Laffy Taffy wrappers.

Here is my experience with the all-Laffy Taffy wrapper diet.

Wrapper count: 21

Mood: Committed AF.

I catch one of my colleagues giving me the side-eye as I casually munch on a wrapper in the cafeteria. Munch. Munch. Munch. Oh yeah, I’m doing this, bitch.

DAY 2

Wrapper count: 25

Mood: Life is great. Laffy Taffy wrappers are great.

In theory, inhaling nothing but Laffy Taffy wrappers for a week sounds like it would, like, seriously mess up your insides, but turns out, the paper is a great source of fiber. I’m already down two pounds!

DAY 3

Wrapper count: 19

Mood: THIS IS MY BREAKTHROUGH DAY!

I can finally button my skinny jeans without my roommate sitting on top of my stomach, and I actually crave the sensation of tasteless, soggy paper on my tongue. My skin is no longer oily, instead taking on the dull waxiness of the Laffy Taffy wrappers. And I love it.

DAYS 4-7

Wrapper count: Unknown.

Mood: A bit… hazy.

I drift in and out of consciousness. From what my colleagues tell me, I was eventually found in the janitor’s closet, rocking back and forth in hysterical laughter. Yes, I had become so lightheaded from the lack of real nourishment, the unthinkable had happened: I actually laughed at the Laffy Taffy wrapper jokes. Until I passed out.

THE TAKEWAY

Although I ended up in the hospital for dehydration and my boss is making me see the workplace counselor for so-called “coping issues,” my wrapper cleanse was a success–not only because I lost six pounds, but also because it felt like a giant “eff you” to companies that profit from the perception that consuming certain foods are “good” and eating only candy wrappers is “bad.” If my experience helps shed a spotlight on that fallacy, it was all worth it. Even the video of me howling in the closet that one of my jerk colleagues posted on YouTube. All. worth. it.