indignation, resignation, celebration!

I’ve spent the last five months drafting resignation letters in the cold, dark solitude of the closet that I call my man cave. Here are a few of the final contenders.

First Draft:

Dear Mr. Stevens,

Over the course of the last few months, I have witnessed an unprecedented shift in my job duties. What originally were my client accounts have now been subsumed by the gentleman that you recently brought in “to assist with the operational side of things.” I can only assume that the operational side of things is my asshole, and that the assisting of which you speak is totally screwing me in it. If not the intended effect, this is certainly how it is playing out, which is not to suggest this is a game in which I enjoy participating. Surely there is some S&M club that you crawl into after hours that you could also use to take out your aggression against successful women. But I guess the joke is on me because that club is my cubicle and that bitch in chains is me.

For the reasons detailed above and because I now have to dedicate well over 50 hours a week to plotting your demise, I must hereby submit my resignation.


Second Draft:

Dear Mr. Stevens,

When we first had the pleasure of meeting five years ago, I never would have guessed that you gain such pleasure from starving babies. Rest assured that is what you are doing by replacing me–literally taking the food out of my children’s mouths. Before I leave at the end of next week, should I put in a reorder on your business cards to take into account this change in role? I think “King Dick” more aptly describes your title at this company. Corporate would be impressed, of that I am sure.

I hope you eat well tonight, Eleanor Abernathy

Third Draft:

Dear Mr. Stevens,

This is my resignation letter. Stick it up your ass or choke on it–I trust you will make the prudent choice.


Fourth Draft:

Dear Mr. Stevens,

When Edward said goodbye to Bella in Twilight: New Moon, telling her he no longer loves her but only because he loved her too much to see her hurt, I couldn’t help but think about how much I hate my fucking job. I thought the same thing when the Stark family, or what’s left of it, was slaughtered at the hand of Lord Frey, except this time I also wondered why the hell I continue to work here. You can shove that spoiler alert up your ass and find someone else to work here, I’m leaving. Oh, and pay your debts like the evil sister-fucking Lannister that you are–you owe me last month’s commission.


Samwell Draft:  

Dear Mr. Stevens,samwell

I said, what what, in the butt. I said, what what, in the butt. I said, what what, in the butt. I said, what what, in the butt. You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt? You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt? You wanna do it in my butt, in my butt? Let’s do it in the butt, I quit.





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