"A portrait of the artist as a small pig!"

I am cross. Nay, I am more than cross- I am vexed.

I handed the poxy report in. Eventually. There was much running around and trying to track down bloody coversheets and finding that they'd run out and had to ge more printed, then finding that by the time the bloody coversheets had been printed the print-shop was closed and the bloody member of staff who was supposed to recieve this bloody report had gone home and general stacks of annoyance. I ended up handing it in to another member of staff, the guy who calls everyone "Chicken". So of course he opens the bloody thing before the glue is dry (so all the pages will probably fall out) and starts dissing my report.

"What's this? A portrait of the artist as a small pig? Oh, it's supposed to be your laser harp. What does it say here? Las-rup harv? Oh, you've used a funny font. God, you've put a thick load of bullshit in this report, Carnival."
"No... just a thin veneer of bullshit."
"Well, you want to adjust your veneer-cutter, Carnival, because this is a damn thick layer of bullshit!"

At least he didn't call me "Chicken."