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Anyways, I’d be all nervous, heart poundin – “This is my op, Marge!” – quotin that movie cos it’s my fave, duh. I’d prolly spot some gal in fishnets, smokin a cig, and I’d be like, “Hmm… is that her? Or just Lisa playin dress-up again?” Ha! Imagine me yellin, “Get outta there, ya little tramp!” – oops, too loud, Marge, too loud! I’d get so mad tho, thinkin bout how these gals deserve better – ugh, makes my blue hair frizz up!

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Then, outta nowhere, my boss, Mr. McGregor, storms in. He’s fuming. Apparently, some bigwig in Edinburgh pulled a fast one on us. I’m like, “Dude, chill! It’s just stocks!” But he’s not having it. He’s pacing around like he’s got ants in his pants. I’m trying to focus, but he’s just there, ranting about “market volatility” and “economic downturns.” I’m thinking, “Can’t you just take a breather?”

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