Mr. Pfister seemed agitated when he called me into his office.
    "What's up, Boss?" I prompted helpfully.
    "There has been a very unfortunate incident, Louie," he said. "You know the AWS Shipping Code?"
    "The one we plaster all over every box we ship?"
    "No!  Some other AWS Shipping Code!  Of course the one we print on every box!"  (I told you he was agitated.)
    "Well?"
    "Well, it's on everything Amalgamated Whistle Systems ships!"
    "And?"  I had considered reminding him that we had just gone over that ground about three times, but thought a nice, encouraging "And?" would be more prudent.
    "And one of them went out with an obscenity in it!  I can't go into detail, but it began with an 'f' and ended with a 'you.'"
    "Oh, dear!" I sympathized. "So, ... what does this have to do with me?"
    "This has been a major embarrassment for the company," said Mr. Pfister. "The CEO is blaming the IT department, so our butts are on the line.  Excuse me.  Our b*tts are on the line.  I'm putting you in charge of the No More Obscenities project, or NMO.  I want you to rewrite the program that generates those codes so that it will never happen again!"
    "Sure, I can do that," I said and got up to leave.
    "Not so fast!" said Mr. Pfister. "Here's the way I want you to do it:  Every time the program wants to generate a vowel, substitute a consonant for it.  And here are the substitutions I want:  Z for A, X for E, W for I, V for O, and T for U."
    "So, actually, you should have said, 'Our bttts are on the line.'"

    Writing the program code took about 20 minutes, so it only took six months to finish the project.  Fortunately, there were no more unfortunate incidents in the interim.  The fix appeared to be a total success, so I was a bit surprised when Mr. Pfister called me in again to discuss NMO.  This time, he was a good deal more relaxed.
    "Ah, Louie, Louie," he said, parting his lips in what I believe was supposed to be a smile. "Dzmn good work on the NMO project."
    "Uh, thanks," I said.
    "Unfortunately, some svn vf z bwtch has complained that all the other identifying codes are not similarly protected. Can you believe that shwt?"
    "Dang!  I mean, dzng!" I said. "What a zsshvlx!"
    "Anyway," continued Mr. Pfister, "the CEO now insists that the vowel substitution scheme be extended to every code that identifies anything in the company."

    It was a tougher job, but it didn't take long, glacially speaking.  Once again, it seemed to be a success, and I thought I would be free to spend the few remaining years of my life on other matters.  But Mr. Pfister called me into his office one more time ...
    "NMV ws z bwg stccxss, Lvtwx," he said.  "Nvw, wx nxxd tv mzkx wt cvmpzny-wwdx.  Xvxry blxssxd bwt vf txxt crxztxd wn thws cvmpzny wwll hzvx tv bx cvnvxrtxd.  Nv xxcxptwvns!"
    "So, do you think that will be the end of it?" I asked.
    "Zlmvst!  Thx vxrbzl cvmmtnwcztwvn pwxcx ws cvmwng wn rwght bxhwnd wt."
    "You don't say?"
    "Lvtwx!" he gasped. "Wztch yvtr lzngtzgx!"