Not allowed to challenge anyone's disbelief of black magic by asking for hair. (Although I can’t count the number of times I was asked for one, myself.)
Not allowed to add '…in accordance with the prophesy' to the end of answers I give to a question a ‘Master’ asks me.
Not allowed to add pictures of colleagues I don't like to ‘Wanted’ posters.
Not allowed to join the communist party.
Not allowed to leave the communist party.
Not allowed to join any human rights group.
May not call any colleagues or ‘‘superiors’, liars, cheats, thieves and rogues, even if I am right.
Must never chant ‘the clock struck nine and the mouse ran down’ at annoying colleagues.
Not allowed to belt out my rendition of ‘Helter Skelter’ to visiting theatre directors.
Not allowed to quote T S Eliot ‘Jug, jug to dirty ears’ in reference to dirty, scumbag journalists.
Must not taunt Czech colleagues concerning their racist denial of all human rights to gypsies by reading out what Hitler had planned for Slavs, in Mein Kampf.
Not allowed to pinch a certain theatre director’s sock puppet and used it as a ‘stealth bomber’ against him.
Not allowed to use said sock puppet to ‘tell me’ that said theatre director stinks and that he rips little boys’ arses ragged.
Not allowed to make a cup of tea unless I’ve made everyone else one.
Not allowed to throw tea made for me, down the sink just in case it’s drugged.
I do not have super-powers.
Never scornfully sing ‘Upside down’ by Diana Ross, to a boyfriend you have just dumped. It is not a psychological warfare message.
I am not the ‘all-seeing’ Seer.
I am not allowed to bribe, coerce or ‘makka dealey, tak’ with people who have gold teeth.
Not allowed to secretly use my boyfriend’s laptop to learn how to control all of my colleagues.
‘Crushed by the wheels of industry’ is not a motivational anthem.
I may not use public masturbation as a tool to demonstrate a flaw in a command decision given by a visiting theatre director.
I must not use ‘magic beans’ to buy the passport of a foreign service colleague from hotel reception, even if they are an assassin out to get me.
Under no circumstances, am I allowed to say ‘kill ‘em and let G-d sort ‘em out.’
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