It's always the same when the damn annual inspection rolls around.
Some desk jockey comes his (or in this case her) nose into every nook and
cranny, makes a big squawk about some dropped screwdriver that's been sitting
there doing no harm for the last twnety years, produces a mountain of paperwork
and goes back to their nice safe desk a zillion miles away from any radioactive sources.
And they lecture US about safety? We're the ones who put our balls on the line
day in, day out, Madam. We're the ones who have to take care every damn minute we're
at work or we could melt through to China.
And you know what? All that time we waste doing the damn paperwork doesn't make
us any safer. Why do you think I left the good ol' U. S. of A.? It was to get away
from the damn paperwork and do my job. Well, OK, I admit it. The multi-million pound bribe
from the regime helped tempt me. And now they send the same damn dame to harass me
because the U.N. wants to inspect us for weapon production capacity? Hah! As if I'm
dumb enough to leave any evidence of that in the nice safe zones of the reactor hall.
The evidence is there, Missy, but a dek jockey like you will never find it!
But turns out the head honcho of this dodgy dictatorship don't take kindly to
inquisitive inspectors. So we've got our orders, Ma'am. Be only too please to carry them out...
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