Thank you all for attending. Please be seated.
Judging by the number of you in attendance, my press secretary deserves a sizeable boot inserted, retracted and inserted and retracted into his sizeable posterior a few dozen more times immediately following the first insertion and retraction. That notwithstanding, I welcome those of you who were coerced into being here by someone obviously smarter than you. To those of you who qualify under that banner, let me be the first to say helooooooo. If you'll permit me to state for the record that I have no intention of getting to know you, I will. To those of you who have trudged back into this squalor willingly under your own steam, what could I possibly say to make your lives any more extraordinary than they already are? I'd salute you if I didn't fear the act of doing so would incriminate me as being likened to one of you. If you'd care for me to give you the finger at a later date, I'd be only too happy to do so. Having said that, it's time I put an end to talking freely about you and, instead, focus on what we're all really here for; getting through these next two minutes.
As you're all aware, today marks the first day of my return amongst you lot. No questions at this stage, Yamamoto.
Anticipating what you're all thinking, let me be clear on this matter: the tan is not from having been to a place with outstanding surf; it is not from being at a place with exquisite waiting staff; and it is not from being in a foreign land where living beyond regular means equates to gleefully dropping $5 notes from my wallet and thinking it was a worthwhile experience every time. As far as you're concerned, the tan is from an unknown illness I contracted whilst "working from home."
Yes, Kitano, those finger gestures suggested a tweaking of the truth to suit my own needs. My skills in teaching you the finer aspects of my way of life have begun for another fiscal year. They're off and running, if you will. Please, feel free to take notes.
I don't understand it nor do I care for it, but I've gotten over it, accepted it as one of life's insignificant mysteries and urge you to cease your internal dialogue before it is ceased on your behalf with this nine inch nail I found next to my car this morning. I'm tanned because I'm sick, okay?
I said no questions at this stage, Suzuki. Anticipating what you were about to ask: I don't need to justify my decision to "work from home" to anyone; least of all you. Put your hand down.
Now, to business at hand on this first morning of my next four months. By poking my nose into various cavities throughout our communal domain I've assessed several significant changes to the last time we all gathered and sang hymns around the printers and cables, as we urged the four winds to lift us from this morbid reality and set us down into a space of nether bliss: my desk's gone; my 200 g jar of third-rate instant coffee has been ransacked; the sole member of you lot with any grasp of my language has been demoted to head, and therefore only, teacher of the Special Needs children; my parking spot, the tranquil one under my favourite tree of tranquility, is being dwelled by a vehicle of foreign manufacture i.e. not my own; the urinal has no urinal cakes and is overflowing with my over caffeinated urine stemming from the crap coffee I stole from an unlabeled jar in the communal kitchen, and last, but by no means least, it seems that my presence here won't be required until at least mid-week, if the body language of the new guy in charge is anything to go by.
Now, my only question to you lot, before I take lunch two hours before acceptances and don't return until Wednesday, is: What-the-fuck am I doing here?
I said no questions. Please direct all enquiries and/or grievances care of that bloke twitching from too much booty action in the corner.