I was at a writing conference a couple of years ago and the keynote speaker said something that absolutely rocked me to the very core of my being…and I hope it will rock you, too.

It was Susan Musgrave, at the Surrey International Writer’s Conference. She was talking about when she was a teenager, and she was thinking about giving up on school. Well, you just know how that went over with the Principal. He called her into his office and he went up one side of her and down the other with the whole raging authority figure trip (because at that point nobody had heard of Susan Musgrave and, indeed, she had not yet become Susan Musgrave, per se) and among the many and varied things he had to say, he said this:

If you don’t finish school, young lady, the only job you’ll be fit for is a prostitute!

And, telling the story, she said, Well I knew that wasn’t an option for me, because I hate working with other people.

and who among us cannot feel that deep in the core of our being, eh?

She went on to say, “Have you ever met someone who worked with other people? They all hate it; the only things they complain about are all the other people in the office!”

and suddenly, writing alone by the glow of a midnight monitor doesn’t seem so bad.

In memory of that moment of realization, and in memorium of many an Orwellian moment in my own office experience, we present Mister Montgomery Burns of The Simpsons, performing what’s sure to become the office worker’s anthem: Look at All These Idiots! Lyrics over the jump…

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

Smithers, (hm?) turn on the surveillance cameras
(Yes sir!) Hm. It’s worse than I thought.
Each morning at nine, they trickle through the gates
They go home early, they come in late
Reeking of cheap liquor they stumble through the day
Never give a thought to honest work for honest pay
I know it shouldn’t vex me
I shouldn’t take it hard
I know I should ignore their capering with a kingly disregard, but

Look at all those idiots
Ooh, look at all those boobs.
An office full of morons
A factory full of fools
Is it any wonder that I’m singing, singing the blu-u-ues!

They make personal phone calls,
On company time.
They Xerox their buttocks,
And guess who pays the dime.

Their blatant thievery wounds me,
Their ingratitude astounds!
I long to lure them to my home,
And then release the hounds!

I shouldn’t grow unsettled
When faced with such abuse.
I shouldn’t let it plague me,
I shouldn’t blow a fuse!

But, look at all those idiots,
ooh, look at all those boobs.
An office full of morons,
A factory fulll of fools.
Is it any wonder that I’m singing,
Singing the blu-u-ues.

What happened?  Where are the instruments?
I believe they call this a breakdown, sir.
I can’t have any breakdowns here!
What if there was an inspector around?
Play a guitar solo.
Oh,  I’m a little out of practice, sir.
I said do it!!!  So do it!!! do it!!! do it!!!
Yes sir.

(Guitar Solo)

Yes, excellent.  Well done.
All right, it’s beginning to grate.
That’ll be sufficient, Smithers.
Excuse me?
I said that’s enough!
Oh! Sorry sir.  Thought I had my mojo working.
Humph.

That man by the cooler,
Drinking water, as if it’s free.
Oh. That’s Homer Simpson, sir.
A drone from sector 7-G.

Yes, well, call this Simpson to my office,
And stay to watch the fun.
If he’s 6 feet when he enters,
He’ll be two feet when I’m done.

It brings a ray of sunshine
To my unhappy life,
To make him kneel before me,
And slowly twist the knife.

Look at all those idiots
Ohh, look at all those boobs.
An office full of morons,
A factory full of fools.
Is it any wonder, that I’m singing,
Singing the blu-u-ues.

Take me home, sir.
I’m trying.

Surrounded by idiots,
Outnumbered by boobs.
An office full of morons,
A planet full of fools.
Is it any wonder, I’m singing,
Maybe you should be singing, sir.
Oh.  Singing the blu-u-ues.

(Look at all those idiots.)
Mr. Burns, you, you make Muddy Waters sound shallow and
(An office full of morons.)
cheerful, by comparison.
Thank you, Smithers.  Meaningless but
(Is it any wonder.)
heartfelt compliment.
I feel like I got a few things off my chest,
and onto the chests of my inferiors.
You did .
(Look at all those idiots.)
Why are they still playing?
Um…
Office full of morons.)
They’re not still on salary, are they?
We’re not validating their parking, sir.
They’re paying for their own coffee…