Friday, December 31, 2010

Dear Boss

Category: Issue 21

From: Al “Smitty” Barnes
To: James L. McGreevy, Chairman of the Board
Subject: Urgent Message

Dear Boss,

I trust this unexpected email finds you in good cheer this evening.

Right now, I am off duty, at a midnight garage party, with all my rowdy friends. We are preparing to go outside and watch the sky, waiting out an alleged Solar Tsunami. After a couple of three beers, I am worried gamma rays emitted from a nuclear explosion on our Sun’s surface are about to literally engulf our planet and fill the heavens with phantasmagorical vistas of electro-magnetic fire. I am not making this stuff up. It is all over the news, again.

A friend of mine just told me this is how, if not when, humanity will become extinct. That is why I am sending you this email. My friends have me convinced the world is going to end soon, maybe even tonight.

That contemplation compelled me to let you know exactly how I feel about being in your employ for twenty-two years, six months, and twenty- nine days. In view of the possibility we may all die from overexposure of x-rays from outer space, I feel this is the perfect time for me to let you know I think you are a son-of-a-bitch!

Right now, I am a little drunk and more than little pissed at you. Can we talk Christmas bonus?

Last year I worked hard for you. I worked everyday, without fail. I worked fifteen weekends and countless double shifts, carting you and your family off to school, to work, to Wall Street, to important meetings at posh addresses and fancy restaurants, and then back home again to your mansion in Connecticut. During August, I took only one weeks vacation instead of two because you told me the company needed my services. I did all this to help you have your best year ever.

Dude, what did I get in return for my unselfish efforts? In case you have forgotten, let me point out to you that last Christmas you gave me a lousy twenty bucks in a plain vanilla envelope, without even a card of thanks, I might add.

In view of the seriousness of the situation here tonight, and the dire circumstances at hand, let me take this time to tell you I think you are too freaking cheap! In addition, you are fat. You are a too cheap, fat-assed Scrooge. Furthermore, you smell. Be advised, you suffer from chronic body odor caused by eating too much asparagus. Good Lord, you stink worst than a skunk in a silk suit!

Now here this: I quit! Consider this email my two weeks notice, tubby! Go to hell, you über cheap, fat-assed, stinky, despicable Scrooge!


Al “Smitty” Barnes, your wife loving, boss hating, grossly underpaid ex-chauffeur.

P.S.: If the sun rises in the morning and the world is still spinning, kindly disregard this email.

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