Dear artsy-fartsy former assistant to my boss who now works for a museum or something in NYC -
Well, it's been almost 5 years since you've gone and, yup, I still don't miss you. And while I was absolutely dumbfounded when my boss hired you away from selling high end Herman Miller Aeon chairs the day after you delivered them to our office, nothing could prepare me for the incredible incompetence and the head-spinning stupidity that you brought along with you.
Sure, you were sort of cute in a pixie hair-cut, tom-boy sort of way and I'm sure to a 58-year old THRICE divorced gazillionaire looking for a younger girl to get his mind off the impending anal raping the courts of California were going to levy against him for his sham of an 18 month marriage to a shrew of a gold digging third wife you were a welcome distraction, but your appeal and charm wore off like a tic-tac after a scat party.
And speaking of foul breath, you wrote the book on it, sweetheart. It's utterly fantastic that you are a vegetarian and took the time to lobby the rest of us into your dietary ways while condemning us for being heartless carnivores, but here's a newsflash - gulping down 7 Diet Cokes a day, chain smoking cigarettes and pouring through a salt shaker full of salt weekly is destroying any nutritional advantage your meatless diet has brought to your life. Furthermore, the vaporized combination of cigarettes, diet soda and brussel sprouts made me barf in my mouth a little every time you came up and asked me a question - which was way way, way way way way way WAY too often.
Moreover, while I always found it curious that my boss hired you to work for him, you could have done a wee bit better of a job hiding the fact that you were either banging him at the time, or wanted to severely. The love-sick puppy-dog eyes you gazed upon him every time he entered your radius was about as furtive as a fart in a crowded elevator. I always assumed he hired you because he wanted to spank your pee pee, but when he actually started acting like your boss and getting pissed off because of your myriad gaffes and ineffectual work ethic, crying and acting like a jilted lover in the office was probably the wrong thing to do if you two had any designs at concealing your relationship. No cookie is worth the trouble you put him and the rest of us through, and no, I don't care that you were 30 years his junior. You sucked during your time here and the fact that you knew absolutely nothing about computers, spreadsheets, accounting, finance was probably an important thing to mention to us all when you agreed to do all these things for him.
But that's not the worst part of this and you know it. No, the absolute worst thing about your time here is that you somehow, someway, used the power of your vulva to convince my boss to mandate a weekly hour long session of Yoga, led by you, in our office. That's right, despite the fact that you couldn't turn a computer on, balance a check book or organize my boss's personal life in any sensible manner, you were able to convince him that we all needed Yoga and that you, sensei, were the right person to lead us. For weeks, I held out, refusing to take part in your Yoga classes, seething that my boss fell for your ridiculous plea to get us all on to floor mats for an hour to do fake handstands, work on our breathing (something I’ve managed on my own just fine since birth, you idiot), stretch and generally have what used to be called "NAP TIME" when I was a child. Regrettably, after you called me out in front of the office and whined to my boss that I wasn't participating in Yoga class, I was 'pressured' to join in on your little stretching routine. Congratulations, I can now bend over and touch the floor, take a deep breath and close my eyes. What a freaking revelation! Where on earth have you been my whole life? Thankfully, my boss stopped attending Yoga soon after, which meant I was done as well. And no, I didn't really have a dental appointment every week thereafter, you moron.
Finally, after my boss was done with you and it was clear to all that you were really just an incompetent boob, you were fired. You knew it was coming, but you broke down all the same. On your way out, you stole a space heater and didn't think anybody would notice. I did. That's why I made you send us a check for it and no I don't care that you wrote "#### you, forrest" on the memo line of your check.
Oh, and PS - nice painting you left us. No, really. This is just magnificent work and I hung it up near the fire escape where nobody can see it. My favorite part of the painting is the part where you glued down a taxi-cab air freshener in the shape of a tree. That knock on your door? Ohhh, it's not NYU Art School with a scholarship.
The Painting.
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This was the subject of my next rant. People in my office do this all the time.
What other kinds of hot females do you work with?
What other kinds of hot females do you work with?
