That all.

I try to work on bills today but I seem to have miscalculated. Bank tell me insufficient funds but I don't know why I call because I not have account. I keep sufficient funds in office. But sufficient funds have been misplaced insufficiently.

I use this office for many things. The address is:

Attn: Ms. Sallie Raspberry Brown
Ministry of Multiplicity and Entrepreneurial Enterprises
Large Green and White Victorian House in town of 14,000
Near Plymouth Rock
United States of America
Second Floor
Spare Bedroom on Right
Underneath Bed
But Within Bed
Ring Buzzer at Boxspring Opening

I have staff. Staff of fifty. This staff sit at desks made of miniature wooden blocks with the letter S, hand painted on. This staff sit on acorns manufactured by local Oaks. Dress code require blue blazers and no peanut eating allowed at desk. I have a checker who screens blazer pockets and teensy Fjällräven backpacks before staff swipe in to spy any sneaks who smuggle seeds. I arranged these desks in two rows. Office look like large Victorian greenhouse that go forever and ever and the click clack of untrimmed toenails on typewriters beat as if it is pulse of universe. These staff grateful creatures that have families so they work good. They seem to be afraid of me and that is my technique of leadership that seem to work. Things especially busy in office with election coming up. Armies of frazzled speechwriters with thick coke-bottled glasses consume the aisles like characters on an Aaron Sorkin T.V. show. They walk and talk with magnificent speed and attention, holding their hands up in disbelief and spilling their freshly brewed hot tree sap from styrofoam cups onto the floor. Heaps of recycled paper with scratched out sentences fall gracefully like autumn leaves. Celia, the office cleaner, follows them, tail puffed, sweeping up the failed manuscripts with worried hands as they march to my desk made of silk.

"We need a new approach! The public just isn't buying this free chickens for all thing. They want something else," squeaked my senior writer with a serious and sensational squeamish head twitch to drive a cat into devilish desire.

"Bob."

"It's Charlie."

"Bob. What is title of job?"

"Uh, it's The Senior Staffer Who Steals Stories, Miss."

"And have you stolen stories today? Taglines? Copy? Commercials?"

"No, Miss."

...

"That's all."

...

That's all. I find Miranda's line work so well. It make staff bow heads because they know I find new and more intelligent staff to spy on humans for new ideas to promote political propaganda. It not hard. How about "America's Comeback Team" or "Americans Deserve More Jobs and Take-Home Pay." Thank god, someone came to work today. It not my job to come up with these idea. I have other problem. He Who Must Not Be Named is high priority and I have secret agents of another species currently interested in inside job. But I need to open other office in clothing closet in next room over to keep it from these idiots.

That all.