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Ree’s other poem about The Office
And in the author’s very own words:“I don't have much in my life, so I fill it inventing this sort of thing. Hope someone likes it.”
How can you tell,
A fox from a dog?
And where would you pay,
A pound for a snog?Where could you meet,
A monster called Ogg,
And a guy from accounts,
Who’s as thick as a log?Where the manager looks,
In a way, like a frog,
And when he’s not pissed,
He’s got paper to flog.Where lunchtimes pass by,
In a long drunken fog,
And philosophy lurks,
On the walls of the bog.Where there’s only one black,
And no equality prog.
And in the overall scheme,
He’ s only a cog.Where the management-speak,
Is as clear as a smog,
And getting work done,
Is considered a slog.If you still don’t know where,
Give your memory a jog.
It’s the nerve-centre of Slough,
AKA, Wernham Hogg.