The other day at work we were discussing possible causes of the near-arctic temperatures in Dan's cubicle, which is right next to mine. Dan suggested that the proximity to my black, icy heart was to blame, and someone else suggested the cubicle might be haunted. I pointed out that it probably had something to do with the air vent directly overhead.
"Oh, Occam's Razor, Schmoccam's Razor!" said Jenny Jo. "I say it's haunted!"
I cannot even begin to express my delight to be working in a place where someone can toss out "Occam's Razor, Schmoccam's Razor" and everyone standing nearby knows what it means.
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