Template:Dkt outsourcing plan

Complicatio: My division’s damned, by unfunny fate To live unloved upon the ledger. We are but cost. ’Tis the rust and stain and curse of clammy gears That require a ruinous peopling. We’ve cut our cloth as best can do But these myriad needed grunts, though housed in meagre lairs And kept safe and well away from clientry, are yet a weight. Each speaks the fractious tones of jargoned tongue Such patter’s steep’d, til cup is cold, in leaves of dismal science. Each a different dismal one. Their language smothers. We understand them not. Nor they each other. Yet, this is our strife: this is the bewild’ring scape Of contraptions yoked and tethered as a measurèd beast — Upon whose saddled back our fiscal fate depends. And, O! Dilemma! The very men who work these chainèd cranks — Queen: Men? Just men? Complicatio: And women — and those unsure, or curious, or as yet unaligned— Queen: The heavens doth anoint! Complicatio: Milady? Nuncle: Pray, spare the conjugations, sir: Their majesty doth get the point. Queen: It is a pretty speech so far. But has it any meat? Complicatio: I — we — they — are and am obliged. They whose allied cadence powers our truck — Queen: The dismal ones? Complicatio: Aye them, with all their rancour — By their inevitable heft, they play as weighty anchors. Nuncle: “Weighty anchors”? None call the Reverend Spooner! Queen: There are eighty of these dismal scientists? Complicatio: Nay, more! Eager but, yegads, inconstant. Oafish! Fickle! Slow! I wouldst speed their outputs up, only worser comes with sooner. And so, my liege, my battle plan: set these Morlocks free. Queen: To do what? Complicatio: Should we set the crankshafts free from work-to-rule To run through night and day without cease Even upon the Sabbath. Queen: Crankshafts doth pedal not themselves, Complicatio. Who can turn the wheel without fault or food or rest? Complicatio: You can hire them by the score in Bucharest.