Sentience in a seed-pod

Hello.

I have discovered once again that I am on the lowest rung of society. In fact, I'm below the lowest rung. I'm on the level of those red plastic pieces that stop the aluminium ladder from digging into your carpets. Since my migration from the existential cubical farm, I've once again been smoking the chewing gum bubble of illusion. I thought that perhaps I was at least in part a master of my destiny. However, I was rudely brought around today by the news that I'll be sent upstairs to do the bidding of young Mr Burns and the evil twin. Their bidding involves henching my way through some stuffy documentation, rather than the plot for world domination you would expect. A mere pawn, I must take a duster to our Developer Guide, clear the cobwebs, and replace the rotten wood with some good solid content. Oh, please mister, can I have some more?