A View From the Top (Of My Cube)

Beware the office monkey, friends. Office Space isn't a clever piece of satire, but a living and breathing world that I am fighting to survive in. Short-sleeve dress shirts and ties abound, this place is slowly draining the life out of me. Ten minutes ago, I was talking to some brainwashed retard in my office about mortgages. MORTGAGES! I am 24 years old, the last thing I need to think about is how many percentage points over prime I'll get. Jesus, I need to think about boobs and beer and naughty French Maids. When did it all change? When did it become an absolute joke? There is nothing "real" about this world - my job is not required. I'm sure I could train a Bonobo and a Jack Russell terrier to do basically everything that I do now (aside from mandatory Robot practice from 9:45 to 10:30 every day). Is it the hallmark of a good manager to recognize inefficiency and waste, or to promote and celebrate it? I put it to you, Company, because if this was my operation I was running, I would've fired everyone and brought in some Indians and taught them how to speak in an accent-neutral dialect...

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