H/T to Mark Wadsworth
Sorry to be the one to tell you this but with one in six CORRECTION one in FOUR of us now working for the State (something like East Germany) the fucking money has run out. I know you were promised an easy life and a fat pension by a walrus of a boss, who you have put up with sweating and puffing every time you bent over to pick up a paperclip, I know the chats by the coffee machine were your raison d'etre and your desk houses the worlds largest collection of fluffy animals along with great galleries of your spastic children's "artwork" on every wall. But it's over. The party is over.
So it's time to shave off the moustache, get your hair done, lose some weight, shave your legs, stop wearing sensible shoes, abandon the idea of knocking off at 5pm and throwing a sickie 20 times a year, reading the Guardian whilst having a shit, pack up your cuddly toys and "achievement awards", put back the stolen stationary, download the book you were writing in your "spare time" onto a memory stick
AND GET A FUCKING PROPER JOB.
Shhh. Hear that? The sound of 7 million civil service sphincters puckering like Flander's poppies in the breeze. Bliss.