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2004-08-31 - 3:32 p.m.

My metaphorical buttock-ery of my fragile ego is still smarting like a recently tanned cowhide from the biggest dressing down I have ever had in my career, and as you can imagine, that�s up against some pretty stiff competition.

Continually rebuffed by the powers that be in my quest to publish a compendium of my �humorous� columns, I took the rollicking liberty of going up the food chain, and making enquiries to people who work in the sorts of offices that aren�t on the phone list for fear the common peasantry may harangue them with their petty, filthy, poor concerns.

I have to say I found them most obliging, and returned to my immediate employers rosy cheeked with enthusiasm. Sadly, my top brass oracle had already been on the phone to them, apparently complaining that some oily little tick had been interrupting their elevenses with some inordinate nonsense regarding a book. �Who is this desk Johnny?� they wanted to know.

Well, you can imagine the hoo-ha. My very integrity was called into question, and the ensuing phone call from my superior giving me what I believe to be termed �verbal GBH of the ear-�ole� for circumnavigating her own corporate powers�well, my ears will be ringing with the vitriol for quite some time. It was enough to bring on my palpitations, and no mistake.

Apparently it�s not good business practice for despicable little pondlife turds to go moithering the deity-like forms that inhabit upper management. That you could five minutes ago have toasted a crumpet on my cheeks is testament to the lesson learned.

Minions! KNOW YOUR PLACE!

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