"Arrrrghhhhh!" I scream.

Donna pokes her head through the open door of my office. "Bad day?"

"You could say that," I splutter. "I hate Republicans; they want to cut me just to watch me bleed."

"Rather graphic there, Josh," she grins. "Meeting go well?"

"Oh, just peachy!"

"Cheer up, only a few more hours before you can go home and have a hot bath and maybe a nice cup of cocoa. Then you'll feel all better."

I roll my eyes at her, "Somehow, this evening is going to end with me sacrificing a goat to the Gods of Politics to avoid getting fired. Again."

Donna looks at me, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. "When was the last time you got fired?"

"I meant the goat sacrificing."

"When was the last time you sacrificed goats?" she smiles.

"Err, a few years ago. I don't want to talk about it."

"Frat thing?"

I shrug, "If I tell you, I'll have to kill you."

Donna grins again, "Would you sacrifice goats in my name?"

"Uh, not really."

"And why not?" she exclaims in annoyance. "I'm not good enough?"

"There was no goat sacrificing, Donna, it's metaphorical!"

"Ah," she leans against the doorjamb and eyes me warily. "I don't get it."

I shake my head in frustration. "You're not supposed to get it - it just means the things you do to get through the whatever"

"Ooookay..." Donna wrinkles her nose in confusion.

"It's not supposed to mean ANYTHING," I scream. "It's a metaphor!"

She wanders over and perches on the edge of my desk. "And it sucks Josh. You suck at metaphors,"

"Way to perk a guy up there, Donna!" I roar again. "Why can't you be a good little assistant and get me some coffee... or a gun. That'll be a nice end to this nice day."

"I don't get you coffee, Josh, and we're anti-gun remember?"

"Shut up," I mutter. "Can't you be kind to me?"

"Have we ever seen any evidence of it," she snickers before flicking her tongue out in disrespect.

"Not so much."

"So then why do you think now I'd start being kind?"

I shrug. "I live in hope."

She leans over and pats me on the head. "That's right, Bunny. Hope is a good thing."

"Go away now."

"You don't like being called Bunny?"

"I'm going to start throwing things at you."

"You wouldn't dare!"

I pick up a folder and wave it menacingly, "Try me."

"You throw that and I'm not picking it up," she mutters.

"You're no fun." I drop the folder back onto my desk and cross my arms sulkily.

"I'm a party, Josh, and you're a Very Good Boy."

"Unless you can offer something to cheer me up I suggest you run along now," I threaten, giving her my best death glare.

She flicks her hand at me and flounces out; I stick my tongue at her retreating back and let my head slam onto the top of my desk. I want to go home.

The bath thing sounds kind of nice; if I'm very polite to her for the rest of the day maybe she'll let me use her strawberry bubble oil tonight.

But if she calls me Bunny again she's sleeping on the sofa.