“The boss had a long list of reasons for letting me go--most of which, I am ashamed to admit, were generously understated. It's true, for instance, that I hogged the photocopier for hours on end and snapped at whoever politely--deferentially--inquired about how much longer I would be. I was intent on achieving definitively sooty, penumbral effects to ensure that copies looked like copies, and that, of course, took time. Some days I spent entire afternoons reproducing blank sheets of paper, ream after ream, to use instead of the "FROM THE DESK OF--" notepads the boss kept ordering for each of us.”

“I have sat here at my desk, day after day, night after night, a blank sheet of paper before me, unable to lift my pen, trembling and weeping too.”

“So you're my boss now," I snap."Technically, I'm you're boss's boss's boss.""And technically, it's gross moral turpitude- the fact that i am fucking my boss's boss's boss.""At the moment, you're arguing with him." Christian scowls.”

“It's been a long time since I let a man boss me around. I kind of miss it.”

“If I didn't have my parents to think about I'd have given in my notice a long time ago, I'd have gone up to the boss and told him just what I think, tell him everything I would, let him know just what I feel. He'd fall right off his desk! And it's a funny sort of business to be sitting up there at your desk, talking down at your subordinates from up there, especially when you have to go right up close because the boss is hard of hearing.”

“I know what is going on," said Sir. "I am the Boss! Of course I know!”