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Which Office Moron Are You?
- Thread starter tRaptor
- Start date
IamElectro
Golden Member
I'll smoke you a kipper, because you'll be back for breakfast. You're the cult television show quoting, user account deleting, soap loathing IT Manager.
Something in your childhood has made you the way you are. You've been hired to provide a service to everyone else in the office - you make the computers run, and you make them run well. You've streamlined everything; you've removed all the viruses and installed all the firewalls. The only trouble - the only hole in your veneer of digital perfection - is the way you laugh at everyone.
If someone doesn't know UNIX, you laugh at them. If they lose their password, they laugh at them. If they visit a website using Microsoft Internet Explorer and their computer succumbs to an Internet worm, you laugh. Then you take a swig of your Coke, and with another hearty chuckle tell all your friends on IRC about the idiots you have to deal with.
Maybe it makes you feel better about yourself, although let's face it, you don't need help in that department. You're great, you. Fantastic like burning cool. If only those luddite office fools would let you play Unreal Tournament in peace.
Something in your childhood has made you the way you are. You've been hired to provide a service to everyone else in the office - you make the computers run, and you make them run well. You've streamlined everything; you've removed all the viruses and installed all the firewalls. The only trouble - the only hole in your veneer of digital perfection - is the way you laugh at everyone.
If someone doesn't know UNIX, you laugh at them. If they lose their password, they laugh at them. If they visit a website using Microsoft Internet Explorer and their computer succumbs to an Internet worm, you laugh. Then you take a swig of your Coke, and with another hearty chuckle tell all your friends on IRC about the idiots you have to deal with.
Maybe it makes you feel better about yourself, although let's face it, you don't need help in that department. You're great, you. Fantastic like burning cool. If only those luddite office fools would let you play Unreal Tournament in peace.
Congratulations, you're the paranoid boss.
All these people around you .. they're necessary, sure, but they need to be watched. They could rise through the ranks like a crushing army of office ninjas; highly skilled human resources, trained in the art of doing things well, ready to usurp you.
Be ready. Claim credit for their work. Squish them down at every possible opportunity. Screw them over. Don't give them enough money. Ensure your reign will last for a thousand years, but never, ever let them think they can compete.
All these people around you .. they're necessary, sure, but they need to be watched. They could rise through the ranks like a crushing army of office ninjas; highly skilled human resources, trained in the art of doing things well, ready to usurp you.
Be ready. Claim credit for their work. Squish them down at every possible opportunity. Screw them over. Don't give them enough money. Ensure your reign will last for a thousand years, but never, ever let them think they can compete.
phonemonkey
Senior member
I'll smoke you a kipper, because you'll be back for breakfast. You're the cult television show quoting, user account deleting, soap loathing IT Manager.
Something in your childhood has made you the way you are. You've been hired to provide a service to everyone else in the office - you make the computers run, and you make them run well. You've streamlined everything; you've removed all the viruses and installed all the firewalls. The only trouble - the only hole in your veneer of digital perfection - is the way you laugh at everyone.
If someone doesn't know UNIX, you laugh at them. If they lose their password, they laugh at them. If they visit a website using Microsoft Internet Explorer and their computer succumbs to an Internet worm, you laugh. Then you take a swig of your Coke, and with another hearty chuckle tell all your friends on IRC about the idiots you have to deal with.
Maybe it makes you feel better about yourself, although let's face it, you don't need help in that department. You're great, you. Fantastic like burning cool. If only those luddite office fools would let you play Unreal Tournament in peace.
Something in your childhood has made you the way you are. You've been hired to provide a service to everyone else in the office - you make the computers run, and you make them run well. You've streamlined everything; you've removed all the viruses and installed all the firewalls. The only trouble - the only hole in your veneer of digital perfection - is the way you laugh at everyone.
If someone doesn't know UNIX, you laugh at them. If they lose their password, they laugh at them. If they visit a website using Microsoft Internet Explorer and their computer succumbs to an Internet worm, you laugh. Then you take a swig of your Coke, and with another hearty chuckle tell all your friends on IRC about the idiots you have to deal with.
Maybe it makes you feel better about yourself, although let's face it, you don't need help in that department. You're great, you. Fantastic like burning cool. If only those luddite office fools would let you play Unreal Tournament in peace.
I'll smoke you a kipper, because you'll be back for breakfast. You're the cult television show quoting, user account deleting, soap loathing IT Manager.
Something in your childhood has made you the way you are. You've been hired to provide a service to everyone else in the office - you make the computers run, and you make them run well. You've streamlined everything; you've removed all the viruses and installed all the firewalls. The only trouble - the only hole in your veneer of digital perfection - is the way you laugh at everyone.
If someone doesn't know UNIX, you laugh at them. If they lose their password, they laugh at them. If they visit a website using Microsoft Internet Explorer and their computer succumbs to an Internet worm, you laugh. Then you take a swig of your Coke, and with another hearty chuckle tell all your friends on IRC about the idiots you have to deal with.
Maybe it makes you feel better about yourself, although let's face it, you don't need help in that department. You're great, you. Fantastic like burning cool. If only those luddite office fools would let you play Unreal Tournament in peace.
Something in your childhood has made you the way you are. You've been hired to provide a service to everyone else in the office - you make the computers run, and you make them run well. You've streamlined everything; you've removed all the viruses and installed all the firewalls. The only trouble - the only hole in your veneer of digital perfection - is the way you laugh at everyone.
If someone doesn't know UNIX, you laugh at them. If they lose their password, they laugh at them. If they visit a website using Microsoft Internet Explorer and their computer succumbs to an Internet worm, you laugh. Then you take a swig of your Coke, and with another hearty chuckle tell all your friends on IRC about the idiots you have to deal with.
Maybe it makes you feel better about yourself, although let's face it, you don't need help in that department. You're great, you. Fantastic like burning cool. If only those luddite office fools would let you play Unreal Tournament in peace.
Stop crying, little one. You're the disarmingly young temp.
You had to get some kind of job when you left school, and nobody's willing to pick up a fresh-faced graduate and give them an amazing job. Not unless they're some kind of genius, anyway, and even then it's unlikely because geniuses make people uneasy. Clever people do not fit in offices.
So you're a temp. Working from short contract to short contract, dodging your officemates' condascending glances, you hope one day to have a real job. Until then, the fact that you look about twelve makes you an easy target both for tea-making duties and the perverted old boss.
Sweeet.
Oh, here's the pic: temp.jpg
You had to get some kind of job when you left school, and nobody's willing to pick up a fresh-faced graduate and give them an amazing job. Not unless they're some kind of genius, anyway, and even then it's unlikely because geniuses make people uneasy. Clever people do not fit in offices.
So you're a temp. Working from short contract to short contract, dodging your officemates' condascending glances, you hope one day to have a real job. Until then, the fact that you look about twelve makes you an easy target both for tea-making duties and the perverted old boss.
Sweeet.
Oh, here's the pic: temp.jpg
DurocShark
Lifer
Should I be nervous that we all win IT Manager?
Tremulant
Diamond Member
I'll smoke you a kipper, because you'll be back for breakfast. You're the cult television show quoting, user account deleting, soap loathing IT Manager.
Something in your childhood has made you the way you are. You've been hired to provide a service to everyone else in the office - you make the computers run, and you make them run well. You've streamlined everything; you've removed all the viruses and installed all the firewalls. The only trouble - the only hole in your veneer of digital perfection - is the way you laugh at everyone.
If someone doesn't know UNIX, you laugh at them. If they lose their password, they laugh at them. If they visit a website using Microsoft Internet Explorer and their computer succumbs to an Internet worm, you laugh. Then you take a swig of your Coke, and with another hearty chuckle tell all your friends on IRC about the idiots you have to deal with.
Maybe it makes you feel better about yourself, although let's face it, you don't need help in that department. You're great, you. Fantastic like burning cool. If only those luddite office fools would let you play Unreal Tournament in peace.
Something in your childhood has made you the way you are. You've been hired to provide a service to everyone else in the office - you make the computers run, and you make them run well. You've streamlined everything; you've removed all the viruses and installed all the firewalls. The only trouble - the only hole in your veneer of digital perfection - is the way you laugh at everyone.
If someone doesn't know UNIX, you laugh at them. If they lose their password, they laugh at them. If they visit a website using Microsoft Internet Explorer and their computer succumbs to an Internet worm, you laugh. Then you take a swig of your Coke, and with another hearty chuckle tell all your friends on IRC about the idiots you have to deal with.
Maybe it makes you feel better about yourself, although let's face it, you don't need help in that department. You're great, you. Fantastic like burning cool. If only those luddite office fools would let you play Unreal Tournament in peace.
Chaotic42
Lifer
Whaddup, lil Janitor. I see you have a chip on your shoulder the size of Montana.
It's not enough that you have to watch those overpaid idiots go about their inane business every day on twice your salary, as you relentlessly clean up after them. It's not enough that they refuse to say more than a quick "hi" to you day after day, and never invite you on the office outings or give you so much as a Christmas card. But the things they leave in the toilet, on their chairs, across their keyboards and clinging to the outsides of their wastebaskets like snot to a child ...
... it's enough to make you shudder with grief and fury.
And shudder with grief and fury you do, behind their backs, in corridors and broom closets. Some day, you'll get your own back. But you're not going to play their underhanded games; you're not going to stoop to their stuffy little level. You're going to take the moral upper hand and screw them over one day so bad that they won't know what hit them. And until then?
Until then you wait.
It's not enough that you have to watch those overpaid idiots go about their inane business every day on twice your salary, as you relentlessly clean up after them. It's not enough that they refuse to say more than a quick "hi" to you day after day, and never invite you on the office outings or give you so much as a Christmas card. But the things they leave in the toilet, on their chairs, across their keyboards and clinging to the outsides of their wastebaskets like snot to a child ...
... it's enough to make you shudder with grief and fury.
And shudder with grief and fury you do, behind their backs, in corridors and broom closets. Some day, you'll get your own back. But you're not going to play their underhanded games; you're not going to stoop to their stuffy little level. You're going to take the moral upper hand and screw them over one day so bad that they won't know what hit them. And until then?
Until then you wait.
Schadenfroh
Elite Member
IT Manager
Whitecloak
Diamond Member
paranoid boss
Stop crying, little one. You're the disarmingly young temp.
You had to get some kind of job when you left school, and nobody's willing to pick up a fresh-faced graduate and give them an amazing job. Not unless they're some kind of genius, anyway, and even then it's unlikely because geniuses make people uneasy. Clever people do not fit in offices.
So you're a temp. Working from short contract to short contract, dodging your officemates' condascending glances, you hope one day to have a real job. Until then, the fact that you look about twelve makes you an easy target both for tea-making duties and the perverted old boss.
You had to get some kind of job when you left school, and nobody's willing to pick up a fresh-faced graduate and give them an amazing job. Not unless they're some kind of genius, anyway, and even then it's unlikely because geniuses make people uneasy. Clever people do not fit in offices.
So you're a temp. Working from short contract to short contract, dodging your officemates' condascending glances, you hope one day to have a real job. Until then, the fact that you look about twelve makes you an easy target both for tea-making duties and the perverted old boss.
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