Week Two of Emergency Office Dolly cont’d…

Properly told off yesterday by the boss for not confirming a meeting for nextpdjxshdsblahablahpeepahbollocksbollocksblah. He puffed and panted and strode back into his private office. I went a bit red and flushed – betrayed by my own flesh! –  but still gave him a dead-eyed glare. I just wanted to say, “Look here, YOU, do you have any idea how indifferent I am? Do you know how much I care about all this corporate bollocks on a scale of one to ten? I’d say around minus forty thousand. Minus forty thousand is probably just about the point at which I’d show signs of life and like a little office amoeba start forming the initial machinations of giving a shit because for some reason maybe I might fancy this life where my only significant other is Tony at the computer repair centre. So you know where you can stick your tepid, tyrannical telling off…?

In other news, my new favourite past-time is standing with my hands under the dryer. I go into the toilet – often when I don’t even need to “go” – and just stand there. Sometimes I even let it run twice. It’s like having a nice, warm embrace, or on particularly needy days, like a gentle but no less satisfying orgasm. Or a non-creepy massage by Casper the friendly ghost. Either which way it gets me out of the electric chair for ten minutes, even if it does mean everyone in the office thinks I’m having a disturbingly long poo.