There was a knock on the door, accompanied with a muffled "Sir?"

Vimes sighed. It was Angua, and for her own good, she would better not be coming in with a new pile of paperwork. He had gotten enough of it for at least several lifetimes.

"Enter," he said flatly, looking in despair at the mountain of documents and reports that was threatening to collapse and bury him under a ton of paper.

"Sir,"said Angua as the door closed behind her. He pushed aside some of the lower peaks to make visual contact and confirm his terrible premonition. She was swaying under the enormous weight of what suspiciously resembled notes of complaint, more reports and even more notes of complaint. The situation was getting out of control.

"Angua, if you come through that door with more of these just one more time, I'm going to shoot you." he said.

She put them down on the floor and wiped her forehead. "Good. Then you'll have to bring the next pile waiting downstairs by yourself, sir."

He frowned. "What are these for anyway?"

"This is from the Guild of Butchers, I believe," she said and put it down on the floor.

"All of it?"

"Well, yes, sir. This is the bill for the destroyed merchandise. Last week, while we were chasing Two-Headed Jimmy?"

"Oh, come on," Vimes groaned. "At least we caught him, didn't we?"

"Yes, sir, but the butchers don't believe this is a good enough excuse. They demand compensation."

"Tell them to shove it up their jumpers, will ya?"

"Indeed I will, sir," said Angua, closing the door behind her on her way out.

Vimes sighed again and rubbed his temples. Six o'clock was two hours away and he wasn't even close to reading through even half of the paper mountains, hills and valleys on his desk. He pulled out a piece of paper randomly and started reading it.

The day was clear and we felt happy when we stepped out of the House in the brilliant morning. All around us happy citizens were attending to their daily duties—

Damn it, again one of those. What the hell was that, anyway? It looked like a crazy author's idea of a short story, or perhaps parts of a novel, but in both cases he wouldn't dare read the entire text because he might start seeing cute fluffy animals, or even worse—small dwarves with funny little hats and mining instruments, singing happily while walking to the mine.

The door opened, this time without warning, and Angua re-entered, carrying a smaller stack of reports.

"These would be the last ones for this week, sir."

Thank gods, Vimes thought.

"Thank you, sergeant." For a moment his gaze fell on the strange piece of paper in his hands and he added, "By the way, would you happen to have any idea as to who sends these all the time? I get at least ten every week and I'm starting to hope the author of these would sustain a heavy arm injury, at the very least."

She took it out of his hands and examined it closely.

"That is lance-constable Forkinson's report, sir."

There was a moment of dead silence.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, sir."

"Forkinson? That dwarf we employed last month?"

Angua frowned. "Yes, sir. Here's his name, sir. In the top right corner of the scroll." She gave him the report back and pointed at an indiscernible blot of ink.

"Oh, really? I always thought that was mosquito vomit."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, haha, sir. He's been writing those every day since he got here. He's very diligent."

Vimes cast a guilty glance at the fireplace, where the remnants of the last thirty of those works of diligence lay, now ashes scattered over the charcoals.

"Is that so?" he said, trying to sound indifferent.

"Yes, sir. He's arrested over forty people so far for all kinds of violations of the law so far, sir, as I'm sure you've learned from the reports. He takes his job extremely seriously, as I said before."

"Yes, yes, hmm...." Vimes nodded thoughtfully, still looking sideways. "You wouldn't happen to keep copies of those somewhere?"

Angua narrowed her eyes as she glanced at the fireplace as well . In his opinion, the Look she gave him afterwards was a little too long and accusing. He hadn't known, had he?

"No, sir. Why, sir?"

"Err... Never mind. Now leave me alone,I've got plenty of work to do."

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, so I better take a look at his report, then," he murmured to himself as soon as she was gone.

(Mosquito vomit) 23rd Grune

The day was clear and we felt happy when we stepped out of the House in the brilliant morning. All around us happy citizens were attending to their daily duties, such as happily walking the pet, happily doing some shopping and happily talking amongst each other.

Two sentences, six words associated in some way with happiness. It was clear that guy had mental disorders, because no one in their right mind would call the citizens of Ankh-Morpork happy. Vimes's hand started shaking with dread at what was to come.

With wide joyful smile we (I am referring, of course, to me and my happy and fortunate colleague Mr Rock) we went to an old lady and equally happily informed her (happy to do our duties and serve the law) and told her that according to the Age Limit Law of 1345 all old women over the age of 65 were not allowed outside without a companion. She happily informed us no one had told her that before, and we, equally happily, told her that the fine was two hundred dollars. We were so happy to perform our daily duties and serve the law.

PS. I was so happy, that I decided to write a poem. It is called, "Ode to Happiness"

Happy, happy, happy, happy,

happily we roam

happily we foam..

happily we do,

happily we...shoo!

Half an hour later Vimes was still staring at the opposite wall with an expression of pure horror on his face. He hadn't moved, all of his senses were numb from what he had just read. He was sure he would be having nightmares for weeks ahead.

He still hadn't moved an hour later, when Angua knocked on the door and called out, "Sir? It's half past five"

That awoke him. Slowly, he put down the offending paper, as if afraid that it would explode, and quickly got up.

"Angua?"

"Yes, sir?" she said from behind the door.

"Please, do me a favour. When I'm gone, I'd like you to go into my office. You'll find Forkinson's report on the desk; pick it up, and without looking at it, throw it in the fireplace. Without looking at it, that's very important. Don't succumb to the temptation to read it! You got that?"

"Yes...sir. May I ask why...?"

"No, sergeant. Oh, and give me the address of the best psychiatrist in this city. I want it by tomorrow morning on my desk."

"Yes, sir."

He opened the door and found Angua's perplexed face staring at him.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"No, I'm not, sergeant. Goodbye."

She traced him with her eyes until he got out of sight and shook her head.

"Poor him. Too much paperwork."