Thursday was strained. The Butter Troll, She Who Is Also Lazy Susan was behaving like a five-year old in the sandbox since Adrenaline Junkie (our Director O' Operations, you remember him) was out of the city getting his new job arrangements, his brass buttons shined, and for all I know his knob polished, and we were all strained to put up with it (Butter Troll, not the knob polishing,) because we didn't have a shovel to dig a really REALLY big hole to toss her ass into when one of us snapped and killed her. As a means of venting off some steam, VW and I, who as you may recall sits about ten feet away from me separated by a door-frame, spent part of the afternoon emailing each other, and giggling like schoolgirls inbetween reads.
This is how it ran.
Vulgar Wizard wrote:
I'm writing to inform you that the Butter Troll lives; beware.
Irrelephant wrote back:
Dear Etruscan Earwig,
Thank you for your recent submission of warning. Unfortunately at this time we do not require further warning that The Astoundingly Stupid One is, ipso facto, still alive. She has been sighted tramping around our desk all day, leaving behind a foetid smell and a distinctly snail-like trail in our carpeting.
on behalf of The Submissions Department,
Mr. P.D.Q. Snappahead, Director.
The Great Bald PN just ventured into BT's realm. Let this letter serve as a warning that body parts my fly toward the front of the office at any given time, covered with butter of course.
My dear EE--
Whoa, man, that was close, I swear to God it was.
OK, you win.
What's really sad is that this maneouver only killed about ten minutes of an interminable day.