A guy assigned to me once went to the boss after a week and said: “If I have to work with that crazy little longhaird SOB again I quit!”
He wasn’t bluffing. The next time he had to work with me, he went to lunch and we never saw him again.
He gets up in the morning, goes to the barn, grabs his three-legged stool, makes faces at the cow and moos at it.
Yes, he is that strange ** cow-irker.** 
She is entirely too excited about her tea, and gets a little over-enthusiastic when talking about murdering her more annoying clients. I wonder sometimes if she is joking or not. And what is with the weird foods she brings for lunch? And the ice-eating thing is weird.
I have five little rocks on my desk. I like them. They make me happy. I’m the secretary who rocks. Ha!
I can take a picture of my rocks tomorrow, if you’d like.
Otherwise, I’m not weird at all.
I hate cows…the black & white spots, the milk, the incessant “mooooo”-ing at all hours. Fuck 'em; I’ll never work with another one.