I quit you pompus ass

To Mr. Smiras

I quit, you pompous, narcissistic ass. I heard from HR that you were going to fire 500 people, and I was one of them, so I’m quitting first. I was your best scientist and project manager, now who are you going to make lead scientist? Mel? The only thing he came up with is a pill that makes you puke…oh and that week he took off, he used it so he could go to Hawaii.

I saw you in my office rubbing one off to the picture of my wife. I took pictures and sent them to Jen to give to her divorce attorney. I’m guessing she hasn’t told you about the divorce yet or you would have been coming to work crying like you did when your pet hamster died. We haven’t slept with each other YET, but as soon as the divorce papers go through, I’m going to make her call me Daddy.

You should be getting a visit from the FBI soon, Last week when you were out at “the club” Jen and I found your hidden crypto wallet password on a post-it note under your desk along with info about a hidden bank account you have overseas. As I’m writing this letter, I see them coming toward you, you’re so screwed. Oh, and the IRS is probably going to put charges of tax evasion on you. Have fun in prison.

Last week I followed you and saw you robbing McPet’s, I wondered why you stole gerbils but then I followed you to the furry party…Nice dog costume by the way.

Everyone knows you cheat at golf too. We saw you several times pick up your ball and throw it to make it look like you hit it further. Of all the times you’ve cheated we knew about it. Your best score was 156, not a 6, I really took your score. I know you pay Scott to give you a good score. We never said anything so we wouldn’t hurt your wittle feewings.

Jen told me you never wanted to play softball because of the way you run. She took a video of you and you run like a baby. We also know you wear lifts, and wear women’s underwear under your suit.

Jen told me you put sour milk in your smoothie because you say it keeps you regular. Dude, I don’t know why you’re not sick all the time and now I also know why you always smell like sour milk. Jen talked to your trainer Max and he told her he told you that as a joke, and you’ve been doing it for 3 months. Regular is going once or twice a day, not 8 times. No one wants to drive with you because you have a porta-potty in your car. I hear cops know to wear gas masks when they pull you over because your car smells like a mixture of shit and sour milk. Your own wife always wants to take two cars when you go out because it smells so bad. Everyone carries a bottle of Poo-Pourri with them for when they have to use the bathroom.

Mister Smiras walks toward Doctor Ryth. “How is everything going, Ryth?”

“Fine, sir.” The doctor said in a nasaled voice, trying to breathe only out of his mouth.

“Good, good.” Smiras replied and then walked away.

Doctor Ryth took out a small bottle of Poo-Pourri and sprayed it around him before breathing through his nose again.

You just walked right up to me, luckily I saw you and put away this letter.

“Damn, I lost my train of thought. Where was I?” He thought to himself. “Oh yeah.”

Our rival has been trying to poach me for six months now and I always said no out of loyalty. Well, guess what? I’m taking the job. Somar is going to give me my own lab and double the pay you give me. I’ve been working on something great on the side in my home lab and I pitched it to them, they love it—your loss.

Jen just sent me pictures of the FBI at your house, she just let them in. She also sent me pictures of her packed bags, she found an apartment behind your back, she moves in today.

You never saw this coming, but I heard rumors that you may have to lay off people weeks ago and we’ve been planning this for a while now. We’ve been collecting evidence, there is enough on you to put you into prison for a long time.

I wonder who’s going to be the next CEO of Lasco. People wanted me to take over the job but I’m a scientist, not a CEO. I could have probably stayed at Lasco and asked for a raise, but I think a fresh start would be good for me.

Well, have fun and fuck you.

Sincerely,

Oscar Myers