Suspicion

There are sinister happenings, erm, happening in our office today. A finely honed team spirit has been dashed on the dark jagged rocks of transgression. Stinking, skeletal tendrils of suspicion swirl in the foetid air like a filthy grey fog, probing, searching, intent on outing the evil bastard wot done it. A sacred trust has been broken. Fingers are being pointed. People are gathering in small groups, eyes furtively scanning the room for clues, whispering, accusing, searching for someone to blame; desperately trying to make sense of the carnage that greeted them when they came into work today to find that some psychopathic madman has taped their mouses to their mousemats.

I don't know how much longer I can go on – get me out of this hell hole!