Let’s say I’m an ABC executive. I walk onto the 63rd floor of my office building on a rainy Friday morning. I reach deep inside myself and find the goodwill to utter a few shallow good mornings to the cubed peons that do all the work so I can drive a different colored Porsche every day of the week. I pass by my secretary’s desk, who I shamelessly hired over hundreds of qualified applicants. Sure, she can’t read and her favorite word is like, but I’m 70 and senile, this is as good as it gets for me.
Right before I open the door to my 2,000 square foot office, she pops a bubble and says, “Hey sir, umm, like, GM; and, like, here’s a list thingy that I was totally supposed to give you.” I grab the piece of paper and it says this:
