My Letter To Me, The Assistant Best Boy
Dear Assistant Best Boy:
All I can say is - What the fuck?
I get into work this morning right around 5 AM, as usual. (5 AM is a good time to get work done in the FLYMF offices – before the rush, before the commotion, before James Seidler comes galloping through with his tighty-whities on his head, yelling “I need an enema! I need a douche!” - which might be funnier if he hadn’t just learned those words picking up his illegitimate son from elementary school.)
Anyway, I get into work, turn on all the lights, get the coffee machine percolating, and, as usual, I check my inter-departmental mailbox.
And what do I find? A memo, on official FLYMF stationery, saying that I’d been DEMOTED! Me, the Co-Editor-In-Chief – relegated by arbitrary fiat to “Assistant Best Boy”!
What a crock of partially digested ASS!
That’s right, you goddamned bastards – and I’m not talking just to James’s illegitimate son here - I’m PISSED! I’m ANGRY! I’m going to end every sentence in CAPS! And if the responsible parties for this travesty don’t watch their backs, I’ll give em some CAPS! Right in their miserable ASSES!
POP! POP! POP!
The note wasn’t signed, of course – because the gutless fucks I’ve been slaving away my miserable life for don’t have a single gut between them. I mean, as of Friday, Nick Holle didn’t even have a working Achilles Tendon in his left leg. And he’s qualified to make personnel decisions? I don’t think so, cheese dicks.
Do Nick and James really think I won’t know who’s behind this? I mean, yeah, the slinking in the shadows shouldn’t surprise me. It fits their profile. Nick and James won’t ever take public responsibility for their actions – it’s like all that art they just stole from Norway. Sure, the FLYMF men’s room is better decorated, but still…
Folks, don’t think for a minute that this PUTSCH will stand. I have some of the finest legal minds in the phone book examining the FLYMF Charter and our Articles of Confederation.
If there’s any way for me to regain my God-given title of Co-Editor-In-Chief, then I’ll pursue it. In the meantime, enjoy this issue. Despite the Machiavellian machinations operating under the surface, it kicks the proverbial ass.