Sorry Doesn't Help
Earlier in my career I managed a large team, mostly young people in their twenties, all working on different stages of an important, complex project (to say more would be boring and you don't really need to know the specifics).

One of the project milestones was writing out to all Local Authorities informing them of forthcoming changes to legislation and what they needed to do to comply with said legislation.

I drafted the letter and its attachments, and left it to one of my team to complete the mail merge and despatch the letters (this was just before email).

Three or four days later, I got a phone call from the Chief Executive of Wiltshire County Council, who sounded rather aggrieved, and also slightly embarrassed. He thanked me for the letter - which went out under my signature - and informed me that he would take the appropriate steps to comply with its contents. All well and good. I thanked him for this. Then he went on to enquire why the letter was addressed to Wiltshite Cunty Council.

Without missing a beat I smoothly informed him that it was an administrative error, apologised profusely, and assured him that steps would be taken to address the issue. Perhaps some training was in order for the member of staff responsible. We finished the call cordially, making vague plans to meet up for a round of golf when the weather improved.

I then made myself a cup of tea, drank it, and called the member of staff responsible into Meeting Room 2.2 for a quick chat. As you know, there is nothing worse than a senior manager asking you to come for a quick chat. It's like your doctor telling you to sit down, I have some bad news for you.

Once inside the soundproof room (a measure I had lobbied for), I let Nigel sit down, threw a copy of the offending letter at him, and then immediately launched into a diatribe that went something like this:

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? HOW THE SHITTING PISS DID YOU THINK YOU'D GET AWAY WITH IT? I've just been on the phone to the CEO of Wiltshire COUNTY Council and he is FUCKING LIVID. He wants the person responsible SACKED. SACKED! SACKED IMMEDIATELY. And let me say this now that you ARE fucking sacked you MORONIC FUCKING CUNT! I mean... for God's COCKING sake... are you some sort of tard? Did you think they WOULDN'T NOTICE?! Have you got a CAREER DEATH WISH you disgusting, worthless LUMP of FILTH!? EXPLAIN YOURSELF! If you can."

I then sat opposite him, arms folded. Nigel was, by now, a blubbering wreck, wretched and broken, and soon to be unemployed. A life of depression, privation, squalor and alcoholism patiently awaited him, followed by a tawdry suicide, an unmourned funeral, and a pauper's grave visited only by dogs who would copiously urinate and defecate upon it.

Of course, by now, I was nursing a hard-on like a milk bottle. "EXPLAIN YOURSELF!" I roared.

Nigel emitted a burbling stuttering series of choked, broken sentences, from which I was able to garner that he thought that it must have been one of his work colleagues getting on to his computer whilst he was away from his desk and interfering with the mail merge.

I considered. This was probably true - Andy, another junior team member, was notorious for pulling japes like this. It probably was him. Neil probably was innocent. But I liked Andy - he sometimes sucked me off in the toilets - and, besides, Nigel wasn't completely innocent.

"Then you clearly failed to lock your computer before leaving your desk! Everyone knows that, even if you leave your desk for a minute or so, you should lock your screen! It's basic security!"

Nigel, no longer a man but a sort of quivering, broken jelly-thing, let out a mewing ululation of despair.

"And that's if I believe your lie about another team member being responsible. Which I don't. Get out of my sight, you spineless, useless, gormless, worthless MAGGOT! Clear your desk and leave immediately, or Security will throw you out." I stood up. "Go on - CUNT OFF OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU MILQUETOAST KITTEN'S FART! AND IF I EVER SEE YOU AGAIN, I *WILL* *KILL* *YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!*"

Through the mist of my rage I glimpsed his abject form stumble from the room. By the time I left the room, he had gone, leaving on his desk his Swansea F.C. mug, which I took to the executive bathroom with me to be the recipient of my semen at the climax of my much needed and well-deserved power wank.

About 7 inches, should you need to know.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 21:04, 7 replies)

WINNER.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 21:32, closed)

This is similar to something else you have written.
I see that you enjoy wanking in the bathroom at work after each episode.
Be careful with that - it could get you the sack.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Wed 13 Feb 2013, 22:04, closed)

I am well aware of that
thank you.

And it was the *executive* bathroom, please note, in which I enjoyed my power wanks. A domain so secure that James Bond, Ethan Hawke, Jason Bourne, Miss Marple, Inspector Morse, Secret Squirrel, or even that dimension-wrangling spunkledite Doctor Who, would never, ever be able to access even at the fullest extent of their powers.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Wed 13 Feb 2013, 22:10, closed)

Who is/was Neil, and why is his probable innocence relevent?
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Thu 14 Feb 2013, 0:07, closed)

"mewing ululation of despair"

Excellent.
(anvil, Thu 14 Feb 2013, 0:08, closed)

I hope I work for you one day.
I would do everything possible to incur your wrath, and when the inevitable tirade and sacking ensued I would refuse to leave, offering excuse after lame excuse, stalling and delaying the inevitable until you can hold back no more and finally spluff in your pants.

It's the little wins.
(King Nightmare, Thu 14 Feb 2013, 9:05, closed)

Watching all those 'Downfall' parody clips
over the last year or so, eminent historians agree the Nazi party would have suffered major setbacks in the early '30s if parliament had approved 'Operation Razzle'.
(roysin, Thu 14 Feb 2013, 10:04, closed)