Throwing Poo

I'm submitting my resignation letter today.  Here is my first version. What do you think? 

Dear Incompetent Boobs,

It is with the comparable satisfaction and relief of dropping a Volkswagon-sized deuce after a long weekend at the Wisconsin Cheese Festival that I tender my long-anticipated resignation.   My only regret is that I am not in the home office with you and cannot personally deliver this letter in a steaming, digested form on the top of your desk.  On second thought, it would probably just get lost among all the other piles of festering dung in your office space that you continually pass off as work product.  And in case I haven’t made enough scatological references in this first paragraph, let me finish by simply saying, “Eat shit.”

While I have certainly enjoyed the entertainment value of watching you mismanage and dismantle this once successful organization into a bungling circus of asshats and clusterfuckers, alas I have grown weary of your inept antics.  Like watching a managerial version of Jackass, I can only witness so many tactical face-plants and administrative crotch-shots before I begin to question and hate myself. I’d much rather just hate you, which is something you should probably get used to.

Though I have chronologically aged five years while working for you, as I depart I feel as if my mind has actually been made much younger by this experience.  Four-years-old to be exact, thanks to a steady dose of whining, conniptions, and boundary-testing by all you power-grabbing douchebags.  I only hope that none of you have infected me with a dormant version of the virus that has caused you all so much irreparable brain damage.

Let me also say that I’m sure this letter will never see the light of day, since nothing remotely critical of your shoddy management and nearly criminal negligence of duty ever does.   And when I am gone and no longer able to defend myself, I’m sure that I will be retrospectively blamed for your continuing missteps, like the ubiquitous scapegoat Bill Clinton in your crumbling Karl Rove administration.

In closing, suck it, bitches. 

Your pal,

Crunchy Blue Commando

P.S. Here's a tip: Personal hygiene: It’s not just for Sundays anymore.

What do you think?  Too subtle, right?