FTP SITE CLEANING - A MUST READ!

A colleague has sent an e-mail to the entire company. She does this with great regularity, as what she has to tell us is of earth-shattering importance. And we should all put our feed back in. Or acknowledge the gravity and greatness inherent in the communication.


Quote:

All,


I¹m in the process of cleaning out old files from the FTP site.
Just a reminder to delete any old files on the FTP site that either you or a vendor placed there on your behalf.
The FTP site is not intended to be a "holding tank" for your files. As of next Monday, April 27th and moving forward any files left on the FTP site (that are over 1 month old) will be deleted.
If you need to leave any files on the FTP site please let me know so I don't delete them.

Thanks for your help!

------------------------------

Well allrighty then.

Now I know how empty my life is. Lackaday, I have no clue whatsoever what the FTP site is, and now that you have let me know of its existence, I finally realize that there is this big hole in my life that only you can fill. But it may be too late!
I have not put ANY files on the FTP site! Ever!
I have missed the opportunity to assert the importance of my old files, whether "tank-held" or not.

Yes, ninety plus percent of the company probably also has no clue what the hell you are talking about either. That should NOT stand in the way of your inculcating a profound sense of loss in them over the cleaning out of old files (on the FTP site) that they never knew existed. They too need to realize how utterly, wrenchingly, agonizingly and appallingly EMPTY EMPTY EMPTY their lives are.
In contrast to yours, for you do know what the FTP site is, and you may decide which files are old.
And you feel obligated to tell us so.

Thank you.

HIGH LEVEL OF BLONDE

Coworkers know that I am not the most patient man in the world. My forbearance is at a particularly low-ebb early in the morning, when still grumbly and bleary-eyed I stumble in to the office to listen to my voice-mails and swear under my breath.

This is NOT an aspect of my loveable personality that Savage Kitten is familiar with. From the moment I wake up till when I leave the house I have a smile on my face and a twinkle in my eye. I am sparkling, cheerful, and good natured.
The pretence is draining.

At the office, however, I revert to my instinctual pattern of morning behaviour.
It's called rabies.


Yesterday morning, while attempting to listen to my messages, I was subjected to a massive flood of inane chatter coming from the other side of the wall. That is where the blondes live.
It was a pulsating high pitched squeal-drone of several voices speaking of their wonderful personal experiences while shopping and eating and shopping and visiting friends and shopping and going to movies and shopping and having dinner and shopping and boys and shopping and chocolate and shopping and handbags and shopping and coffee and shopping and file folders and shopping and clothes and shopping and fabulous jewelry and shopping and make-up and shopping and last night's television show and shopping ....... !


Sweet pickles, ladies, but you lead dreadful lives! Why are you sharing the details? Are you trying to make the rest of us miserable as well?

Have you ever thought of shutting up? For the good of mankind?

Do I need to zap you-uns with a tazer?


I am ever so grateful that Savage Kitten is not blonde. I do not think I could maintain my gracious mask of gentle wonderfulness in the morning if she were.
I am also very glad that she does not visit me at the office. She would probably take one look at the blondes, and decide to poke them with a sharp stick. Or worse.