Our cups aren’t so much runnething over at work, but up and runnething away.

There have been at least four wanted posters posted on the kitchenette wall at work over the past fortnight by owners desperately seeking the safe return of their kidnapped coffee cups.

“Or else”.

Someone’s been sneaking in and taking them, and no-one knows to where or for what purpose, or reason, if there even is one, which there may not, but there could well be.

Detectives can’t rule out the possibility that it might just be an Al Qaeda plot.

Distraught owners are scared their cups will soon show up in a grainy video tape, wearing an orange boiler suit and making forced anti-US statements.

Or it could just be some degenerate who has grown tired of garden gnome liberation and is now looking for a new kind of thieving fix. Who knows?

All I know is people now suspect that the culprit is the guy who sits next to me.

Because I framed him.

Because I don’t like him.

Because he always listens in on other people’s personal phone calls. And then tries to join in on other people’s personal phone calls.

Dude. No one invited you. It’s phone sex. Not group phone sex. Go away. Fucking pervert.

So I grabbed six cups out of the kitchen, including that great big fuck off latte one that belongs to the Regulatory Affairs manager, and slipped them all into his bag.

They made a nice chinking sound when he went to pick up his bag to sneak out early.

“So YOU’RE the cup thief!”.

Which greatly surprised, stunned and shocked onlookers and onlisteners

And then the dick tried pretending it wasn’t him… like someone had slipped them into his bag to try and frame him.

Psh.
Tell it to the judge.

Loser.

Despite these desperate times, I’m pretty sure my coffee cup is pretty safe.

It’s home to a rather fierce and hungry mould monster.

I keep him on side by feeding him the bodies of homeys and hippies and parking wardens and the body parts of various other people who annoy me. Like those bums who try and wash your windscreen at traffic lights. Even though you're riding a pushbike. But try telling that to the severely inebriated...

Anyway, one of the notes that has been left in the kitchenette suggests that the cup coveter should use one of the disposable poly cups if they don't have one of their own, instead of taking other people's.

I find this a sad and racist turn of events.

The white man has already taken enough from the polynesians, without putting their coffee cups up for grabs as well.

Word.