oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Don't speak to me, you back-stabbing, hairy necked, two-faced incompetent twunt.

All the time you're trying to make polite conversation and are flashing that smug "polite" smile at me, I'm thinking about what part of your left bollock would be the most efficient entry point for a kebab skewer. DO NOT SPEAK TO ME.

Why do they bother? Is it not obvious that I think you're a complete waste of skin? Is it not written ALL OVER MY FACE? Yes, yes it is, and yet, you persist.

Your office-related or completely pedantic rants below please.