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Resignation Letter, Or, ‘The World’

I just quit my job. Weeks before I knew I was going to quit, I wrote this resignation letter. Then, in the excitement of finally being able to quit, I forgot to bring it with me when I actually did quit. Balls. Not a big deal, though: it was purposely designed to confound, flummox, and bring about the general idea that I was somewhat unstable, thus making my hasty departure a point of concern rather than indignation.

The highfalutin verbiage and esoteric references would have been lost on the audience anyway. I mean, the one guy has had the same handlebar moustache for at least two decades. And last year, he didn’t even tell us when one of our coworkers was murdered by his girlfriend (Sadly, I didn’t make that up. She ran him over with her car. Management said not one word about it, to avoid giving people a day off for the funeral. Again, I can’t stress this enough: I didn’t make that up.).

Having said that, I now realize he would have thrown the letter in the garbage after he read the first line anyways. Here’s what I had:

The World*, or, My Resignation

Dearest Bob:

If you’re reading this, that means I’m already dead.

Or not. Anyhoo. Where to begin. At the beginning, I reckon.

Some 900 odd days ago, under Libra’s balanced gaze, a new cycle began, I playing The Fool. As time shifted I slowly toed my way through the major arcana, in both work and private life, ultimately culminating in this letter, which as you see above, I have entitled ‘The World.’

To come at it from another angle—the Moirai may now weave my tale. Read:

In that September of 2011, Clotho, Spinner of Life, dealt my thread. Her sister, Lachesis, drew her rod and measured it. Now, this night, governed by the fish Pisces, Atropos The Unturning, eldest of the three sisters, must now brandish her abhorred shears, and make her calculated cut.

Main point being, in the Menippean satire that this job, and consequently my life, has become, the ultimate communication of this letter is that I am quitting, if you didn’t get that already.

Now, by this time you may have noticed that I have left this communique with the front office and vanished, while the traditional two weeks of notice have not yet passed. None of us need worry about this. In the vast scope of geological time, after Armageddon has come and gone, whatever form it chooses to take, be it Ragnarok, The Four Horsemen, The Karmatic Wheel coming to a stop, Nuclear Winter—I can assure you that my swift exit from this company will not matter in the least.

At that time, when aliens, remaining humans, cockroaches—whatever is left, really—pick through the rubble where once stood this office/warehouse compound, I can assure you that my failure to give the traditional fourteen days forewarning will not be mentioned, nor will it even be relevant.

As Elton John once sang, we are nothing more than a candle in the wind. Or Kenny Wayne Shepherd: cold on ice, joker on jack, tears on a river, whisper on a scream. It doesn’t mean a thing.

And thus, as mysteriously as I arrived, I now dissipate, into the nether regions of the working world. May dementors eat my soul should we cross paths again.

Love,

Guy that don’t work here no more

*In Tarot readings, The World card can represent a cycle completed.

A Letter To The Perverted Deadbeat Whose Credit Card Got Declined At The Dollar Store

November 19, 2012 1 comment

Dear guy:

You ought to be ashamed. The ridiculous scene you caused last Thursday at the Dollar Store tells me you need serious help. And I’m not even talking monetary help. Go see one of them head doctors, because you sir, are a pervert. All of us in line saw it—the deer-in-the-headlights look when the cashier swiped your card and was all like “Oooh haaaaay-uuul no! Don’t be bringin’ that trash in here!” You even resorted to lies. “But I just put money in that account today.” Of course you did. That’s why your card didn’t work. Because the account had money in it. For a moment, I even thought of picking up the tab for your two items, until I saw what they were, exposing you as the dastardly mountebank that you are.

What kind of two-bit rapscallion buys baby food and diapers for himself? At some vulnerable point in your childhood, the ease of eating liquified spinach and the comfort of wearing a diaper must have imprinted themselves in some twisted sexual way on your brain, leaving the adult version of you as a walking case study of depravity.

You were probably filling your diaper with creamed corn at that very moment, when the realization hit that you wouldn’t be getting your fix.

Your childish ways were even more evident as I saw you sitting out in the parking lot, crying, looking up at the sky and saying “How is my baby going to eat?” Like anyone would have a kid with someone who still wears diapers, for Pete’s sake. Textbook case of an addict—the heroin isn’t for me, officer, it’s for my baby. How low can you stoop? We’re all supposed to believe you have a kid waiting at home? Of course, and all four of my girlfriends want me to get a penis reduction, but you don’t see me crying at the hospital when the doctors tell me it just isn’t a reasonable procedure.

If I ever see you near that Dollar Store again I will kick you in your bankrupt crotch and then shave your head.

For real,

Me

Beard Man Reads Fan Mail, Philosophizes

Beard Man is not only a superhero, he also receives, and reads, mail from fans. (His vigilantism can be read about here.) Click to enlarge.

 

Stop Wasting Paper!

Apparently there’s some election coming up. It sounds vaguely familiar to me, but I have been pupating in a cocoon of self-help gurus, science fiction books, and various other miscellanea that I won’t bore you with, so I haven’t really been paying attention to much else. Last week, I began receiving unsolicited informative literature in the mail from the Republican Party of Minnesota, urging me to vote “No” on Will Morgan. I don’t really care if you are Republican, Democrat, or Rebuplicrat, but I do care when people try to force their opinions down your throat when you didn’t ask them what their opinions were in the first place. The pamphlets I hold in front of me feature such witticisms as “Will this recession ever end? Will Morgan likes to tax and spend,” and poorly Photoshopped pictures of Morgan dressed as the Cat in the Hat. I took it upon myself to mail a letter to the Republican Party of Minnesota with some pointers on how they can more effectively run their campaign.

*In the letter below, I also make claims that I am a fan of the Cat in the Hat, and also volleyball. Those are actually not true.

Dear Republican Party of Minnesota:

Thank you for including me in your informative smear campaign this past week regarding something called Will Morgan. He sounds like a king-hell bundle of trouble if you ask me. And thank you also for making your literature rhyme. That made it a lot easier for me to understand. Having said that, I do have some questions for you. In both pamphlets, I noticed that you stress the fact that Will Morgan likes to spend. I get that. Because you told me twice, in two seperate pamphlets, both emphasizing that spending is bad. Could I offer up some advice to whoever is running your finacial department? You don’t have to use it, but since you somehow aquired my name and address, and don’t seem to mind imposing your opinion on complete strangers regarding issues that they really don’t care about, I am assuming you are as enthusiastic about receiving input as you are about dispensing it. Here are my humble suggestions:

Firstly, were two pamphlets necessary, when the information contained in them could have been condensed into one? This would save paper, money, and precious real estate in my tiny mailbox. You keep reminding me that spending is bad, but it is redundant expenditures like these that make me wonder who is really doing the wasteful spending.

Secondish, if you are going to hassle me with your itinerary, perhaps tell me who in the wide world of sports Will Morgan is, and what he is running for. Maybe even who he is running against. It is very clear that you are anti-Will Morgan, so much so that it looks like someone even took an extra three minutes out of their day to use Photoshop to take the hat off of the Cat in the Hat, and transpose it onto Morgan’s head. Again, I hope no one got paid to do that, because that is probably an even bigger waste of money than the issues from the previous item. And if someone was paid to do that, might I suggest that you meet with your graphic design department in the most hasty of fashions, and let them know that their work is leaving much to be desired. (Also, as a sidenote, I was quite fond of the Cat in the Hat growing up, and to use segments of his likeness in the mockery of your opponent is, well, rather trite.)

Third, do some market research on who you are sending these things to. Like I said, I have no clue who this Morgan character is or what he is running for, but from your literature I see that he quote, “…funded wasteful projects such as $4 MILLION for volleyball courts in Rochester.” You see, I absolutely LOVE volleyball, and now that I know Morgan supports one of my favorite activities, enough so to supply $4 million for it, I have just decided to go against your warnings and vote “Yes” on Morgan, and seriously question the ethics of your fine organization for finding a wholesome pastime such as volleyball “wasteful.”

And last but not least, I have, at my own expense, printed out and included with this letter some informative brochures on the benefits of homosexual marriage and immigration. Keep up the good work over there RPM.

Onward and upward, and drill baby drill,

<My signature>

Blong (Blog Song). It’s a fun little tune.

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