Dear Napoleóon,

I'm writing you this email because I think my time working at  has come to an end. The income I earn from  is not satisfactory for me. An employee of my skill level should be appreciated. And by "appreciated," I mean quit being so cheap and start forking over the cash, buddy! I'm not one to complain about my workload, but my job here is too hard for me. And I'm not talking "Viagra" hard, Napoleóon, I'm talking "slam your face into a concrete wall" hard. I broke three of those stupid stress balls last week. I'm pretty sure that's a sign that I'm under too much pressure at  so I think it's time for me to find a better place to work. When it comes to the work environment at , I would compare it to the quality of air inside a portable toilet on a construction site; any logical human being would conclude that it's time for me to open the door and get some fresh air before I suffocate. Do you realize how boring my job is? Sometimes, when no one's looking, I pull out a little paint container I keep in my pocket and put a dab on the wall nearby. Watching that paint dry is my excitement for the work day. I worry that, should anything actually interesting occur while at work, I might have a heart attack from the excitement. No thanks. Part of the reason for my decision to leave is that my coworkers are really difficult to get along with. I'm not a big fan of that. You know, to put it bluntly, a bunch of my coworkers are just plain mean people. I don't like them. Watching paint dry at work certainly livens up the day for me, but my colleagues are so boring they actually cancel out the excitement I would otherwise get from watching the paint dry. A wise man once said "What is that? Smells like a turd covered in burnt hair." I have a feeling he used to work with some of the people who work at , because they really stink. Not only that, but working at , I feel like a calculator in a 10-year-old's mathematics class: the kid pushes a few buttons, I do all the work, and the kid says he solved the problem. That's a load of crap, and I don't feel like taking it anymore. The other employees are a bunch of whiners. I guess I can't blame them too much, considering how crappy it is to work at . And yes, I do realize the irony of me complaining to you about my coworker complainers. There's a rumor going around that you've been having serious bouts of constipation this week. Whether it's true or not, the fact is that people here are gossip addicts. And you know those cheerful smiles you get from your employees? It's a sham. They're a bunch of suck-ups. Ass-kissers. Brown-nosers.

I know this isn't the most polite message you've ever received, but have you noticed how rude the other employees are? Just the other day I held the door open for one of my colleagues and as he passed through, he turned to me and said, "Wow, just like your mom, always open for me to come inside." I think you'll agree that this letter is not as rude as that employee. Of course, I'm too polite to name him. If it weren't for the unintentional dissonance and general lack of melody, I might have confused your other employees with a loud concert. I tried earplugs to block out their noise, but it wasn't enough. Furthermore, I'm sick and tired of the daily trophy race at work. People here are too competitive. Everyone needs a good meal to keep them going at work, but when someone else's meal kills everything within smelling distance, it's just not fair to the rest of us. They should eat their smelly food on the roof or something. Based on your case, Napoleóon, it seems that it's official  policy to pay more money as you rise through the ranks yet work less than those below you. What's up with that? You've no doubt heard of love at first sight. Well, as soon as I laid my eyes on you, I could tell I didn't like you one little bit.  You sure have some kind of crazy genetic thing going on: your shoulders are so sloped that any blame slides right off you. And did you know that everyone at the office thinks you're gay? I've decided it must be true; when I ask you a question, you never give a straight answer. Oh, and by the way, there's a thief working at . My food keeps disappearing from the fridge, BEFORE I eat it. Also, you react way too harshly to minor little things at work. Quit crying over spilled milk and grow up!

You know what the difference is between sexist men like you and government bonds? Bonds mature. You know what the difference is between sexist women like you and a good handgun? At least I can buy a silencer for the handgun! It seems that you think you're pretty important, a real hotshot at . It's not surprising since you occupy such a low position in the real world, outside 's walls. You don't even know what I do at , Napoleóon. What does that say about you? You micro-manage as if you think you can do everything, but you need to let people do their job themselves; back off! In addition, you change your mind too often. First you say one thing, then you say another. Make up your mind! I'm not in diapers anymore, so quit treating me like a child. Besides, the benefits at  aren't very good. I can get better elsewhere.  might as well start dumping the company garbage into the nearest river, seeing as how they've washed their ethics down the drain already. I just accepted a better job from someone else. It's way better than what I've had to put up with at . I also want you to know that you are a horrible boss and it is clear that you are made of pure evil.

Hatefully yours,
Hudyny

P.S. Although I'm leaving this job, maybe you and I can meet up for drinks tonight and see who's the boss under the sheets.