If you are going to spend all day alternately watching videos and taking smoke breaks, far be it from me to complain. However, when you rupture your spleen laughing, and attract the attention of everyone on the floor, and someone (namely, me) comments that you must be having some sort of party in your cubicle, please, for the love of all that’s righteous and holy in this world, do not–I repeat, not–saunter over to my cubicle and respond: “You wanted to know what I was laughing at…” (For those playing along, please note that said response was phrased as a statement, not a question. She would so suck at Jeopardy.) No, I fucking well did not want to know what you were laughing at, and I certainly don’t want a blow-by-blow description of it.
Fucking hell!
red paper boat 