Sitting in an office is the most boring experience that anyone can be forced to endure, especially if the person is a complete recluse and lethargy personified. And the work involves counting the number of crows sitting on the boundary wall, or the vultures circling overhead waiting for the inevitable. Life at work is dreary, and I’m a hermit confined to a forsaken corner of the office.
The only acquaintances are my reporting managers, which perfectly fit the character sketches of Ogres from the best selling “The clash of the uptight ‘uns”. (It is no longer a work of fiction)
A chapter from the epic follows...
Currently comparing my reporting managers to marine fauna does not seem untoward. One of them has somehow managed to prepare for life in the Tundra, and proceeded to convert the color of his hair from black to ‘blanca’. I’m sure Siberia would be very excited.
The other one looks towards the sky sporadically in prayer, as if asking God why he was blessed with the powers of your everyday Hercules while the lesser mortals around whimper and cower before his majestic countenance. The fact that His face resembles an outcome of a passionate night between a gluttonous cow and a pig with a cleft is easily ignored (if one is a member of the 3 blind mice, that is). Hail the son of God- Herfooles.
The protagonist in this tale is fraught with misery, and would henceforth be referred to as the ‘Agonist’. His daily battles currently include skirmishes with the afore mentioned monsters of the deep and critical decisions including whether to keep his French beard or to slay, so that he might look weak and pallid, and hence be spared the evanescent encounters with ‘Herfooles’, whose glorious aura scathes our hero’s sensitive skin , scarring him for life.
The current quest set for the Agonist is as clear as Yamuna’s overflowing waters: to venture out in the wilderness, retrieve vital intelligence on enemy movements and then bring it back to his masters, who unceremoniously direct him to shove the entire manuscript up his gnarled cave-entrance-where-the-sun-don’t-shine. They later enquire about the missing manuscript, and upon retrieving it miserable minutes later, a tottering Agonist is told that the corrupted manuscript stinks and should be stowed away back where it was before. Ouch.
Anal annihilation for our hero is but a daily chore in His palace.
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