Catharsis

Returning to the main corridor, I then observed Cecilia systematically kicking and punching great holes in the walls as she proceeded towards me with a menacing, Mephistophelian leer on her face. Instantly, I summoned up a large metal grab of the sort seen in car crushing yards, seized her firmly (but gently) by the hood of her Marks and Sparks jacket, and manoeuvred her through the nearest window into a large blue bottle bank, on which I pasted the address slip:
Officer-in-Charge
Public Protection Unit.
The Shetlands.
“Believe it or not Cecilia, other people have rights too”.
Depositing the bottle bank next to the meal warmer in the outside postal area, I next used effortless telekinesis to summon up a private militia, which I despatched into town to round up the large group of staff members who were currently on pseudo sick leave. After a short while, the malingerers appeared, variously dressed in pyjamas, nightdresses, bondage gear, gorilla suits and other items of regular midday wear.
“Ladies and gentlemen” I began. ”From now on, receiving £1,200 a month for sitting at home with your finger up your bum is no longer a career option. You will either return to work immediately, or you will exchange your houses for tents. Do I have your full co-operation?”
“Yes! Yes! We have seen the error of our ways!” they squealed, going on to demonstrate their fitness by lifting barbells, doing press ups and adopting Mr. and Mrs. Universe poses.
“Congratulations and well done ” I rejoined, shaking each one of them by the hand. “I have arranged your transport”.
“Transport?”
They were then whizzed into the two large recycling bins at the rear of the unit, and addressed to:
Fast Track Convalescence,
Bolivian Iron Ore Mines,
Bolivia.

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