Milton mumbles his muttering

shuffles the papers, stuttering

while office space is shrinking

move his desk one more time

he’s quitting

he used to be over by the window

and the squirrels got married outside

they moved Milt’s desk four times this year

now his cubicle makes him cry

but he kept the old Swingline

because it doesn’t bind

and he still listens to his radio

at a reasonable volume

from nine to eleven so…

he didn’t get the memo saying

the corporation let him go

but a little glitch in payroll

kept him collating and complaining

this, Milton wants them all to know

move my desk again

and something’s going to happen

don’t take my red stapler or

I’ll set the building on fire

I better get a piece of cake

because I didn’t last time

they promised me

but I didn’t receive a piece

the ratio of people to cake

is too big

move my desk again

and something’s going to happen

I could set the building on fire

Bill took my stapler

and he never brought it back

Milt, we’re gonna need

to go ahead and move

you downstairs

to storage B, uhm-k?

I believe you have my stapler…

Milton mumbles— hey,

that’s the last straw

something’s going to happen

I’ll set the building on fire

a charred stapler rescued from the ashes

we know a guy that might want this

or does he?

excuse me, Señor?

I said no salt

NO salt for the margarita

but it had salt on it

BIG grains of salt!

something’s going to happen

I could put… I could put…

strychnine in the guacamole

strychnine in the guacamole

I could have this place condemned, Señor

I could shut this whole resort down

and take my travelers checks

to a competing resort—

Milton mumbles

the waiter grumbles

lo siento, Señor