"You screwed up you piece of shit. They didn't fucking like the adverts, they hated the fucking model, and worst of all you made them hate me.
Get back to your desk NOW!"
Trafford downed the luke warm coffee that was on his desk, feeling his ulcer complaining at the taste.
He slammed his fist down on the intercom and buzzed his secretary.
"I want a fucking cup of hot fucking coffee, and I want it now. And bring me the fucking TA profit report, I want to know whether I can save this fucking deal."
He paced around the room, stopping once to tap the goldfish bowl and grin angrily at the docile fish in it, and once to peer through the blinds of his office window.
Of course, seeing the rain did him no good, neither did seeing the cowering reflection of his secretary.
'We're out of coffee and I can't find the report, I think Igor still has it.'
"Get the fuck out of this building, you're sacked, and tell Igor to get his sorry arse back in here!"
He sat down at his desk, fingering the model of HQ, until Igor came in.
"Where the fuck is the TA report. I need it now since you fucked up the bid."
'I left it a home boss, I can go get it if you want.'
"Come here, I want to show you something."
Igor walked over and Trafford slapped him on the back.
"Have you ever seen the view from my window?"
'No...'
"Have a look..."
Trafford opened the blinds and Igor stepped up to the window. He looked quite amazed at the view across Uptown, with HQ opposite.
Trafford smiled as he slapped Igor on the back again, pushing him forwards through the windows, listening to his screams as he fell to the floor below.
"Maintenance, can you come and fix my window. I can smell the shit on the roads..."
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