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Excellent! Are you off to Another (Yet Completely Different, But Still Evil) Evil Corporation, Inc.?

Well, with your resignation and my impending layoff, there's only one thing to do. You have to come to New York and become my pimp. Or I could come to St. Lou and be yours. Or we could meet in Cleveland and simply buy loud hats and walk funny.

Good on you, Fes. Stand tall, be proud, and do something really juvenile on your way out the door.

Who's coming with me? WHO'S COMING WITH ME?

Now you can start that escort service you always dreamed of! Bravo!

Umm, can I get a discounted rate?

Tiz, you are on the "freebie" list.

I got hired by a small, fairly granola PR firm here, so not quite as evil as EC, Inc. They are growing pretty well, and need someone who can be a utility infielder and back up their current VPs while taking a bit of action to the street and being able to talk the lingo with the increasing number of corporate clients. It may not be a magic bullet, but it has one huge thing going for it: it ain't EC, Inc.. It's a pretty diverse job, but I'm a pretty diverse guy, and I fit in well with their people, so what's not to like, right? And they met my price, which was very nice of them.

Just how much pr could granola need?

PC LOAD LETTER? WTF DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

Granola PR is my schtick, Fes. Thank gawd you're in another media market, or we'd be all over each other's cereal.

On second thought, if they are paying you well, maybe you can hand 'em my resume.

Fes, I'm glad you didn't end up with the job at the Evil GMO Empire. Because then I'd stop speaking to you.

Instead, a hearty congrats are in order. I will eat a monkey in your honor.

I'm thinking about applying for a job at Exxon. Or Haliburton.

Is there a company that skins babies and then overcharges for it?

Halliburton, I'm sure.

Tizzie, you'd laugh, morale here is so low that no less than THREE people in my relatively small office have come up to me quietly and asked that, if anything comes up at my new gig, to keep them in mind for a job. And that Monsanto job never really got going. I don't have any short-sleeve white dress shirts. Thanks for the congrats, Dana :) I gotta say, I'm pretty pleased to be getting out of here. The rails to hell this company is on are getting extremely greasy.

*pokes head up*

*aims, fires*

Missed! Dammit.

*pokes naughty bits up*

*aims, squints*

Can't see the target.

Eyeball Kid!

http://dsc.discovery.com/news/briefs/20060508/drunkmonkeys_ani.html

What's up party people. I miss anything good?

congrats, fes! quitting is one of the great joys in life, rating right up there with the birth of a firstborn, if you ask me.

speaking of which, i'm still recovering from a grueling 5 hour interview at a Big Internet Search company yesterday. and i'm absolutely positive that no one has ever accused them of being evil ;)

Go, Adam! Monkeys on a roll, baby!

Excellent news, Fes. I'm glad your optimism wasn't all for naught.

As for a nice juvenile way to leave, how about some pot muffins?

Good for you, Fes! You sound like a young man again! Please advise promptly as to exact generic name of the injections.

*cue Otis Redding I've Been Loving You Much Too Long (To Stop Now); sending lots of love to all my fellow monkey-lovers*

:)

Anybody hear anything? I don't hear anything.

*grumbles and hugs his cigar-smoking bourbon-stinking teddy bear, then falls asleep*

No. Don't do that.

Cold Che...

I didn't... I honestly hadn't...

It wasn't... It all happened so...

Will you ever...you know...

Is there any...

*Crawls into the corner with laptop, wrapped up in his security blanket, lost in grief and remorse and drink.

Holy crap! Miguel and EBK all in one thread?? And Fes left Evil Corp for granola?

*looks out window for signs of apocalypse*

Lo, the prophesy has come to pass. I have returned for the true believers. They will join me at my right hand in heaven.

Hey, what'd you guys do with Bunnyfire? I miss her.

Oh, and, dude! I went to the movies today. $10 and they ain't even got stadium seating. F that, homes. And what's up with Tom Hanks's hair? The wife thinks he looks like a fat poof.

Jesus Christ, Miguel, and Eyeballkid? Isn't that the Holy Trinity?

*leans back in carved ebonwood throne, steeples fingers, peers under hooded eyes*

My work here is complete.

*bonks head on chair, emits a pained squeek*

Where the HELL have you been, Miguel? Smart money is running 2-1 in favor of "he wrote another book." Well?

This is crazay. Is there any possible way that we've entered a wormhole in the cosmos and somehow we're in an alternate-9622?

Or maybe it's like that Rock'n'Roll Heaven song.

Does this mean I can stop my "no depilation until Migs comes back" protest? Because that means I have to change the appointment for crotch cornrows to a Brazilian...

"Jesus Christ, Miguel, and Eyeballkid? Isn't that the Holy Trinity?"

The "Holy Shit!" trinity, maybe.

"Take This Job and Shove It! Update": the things you learn...

1. You are never *quite* as popular amongst your colleagues as you think you are.

2. Subtract your newfound popularity level by one-half when it comes to bosses.

3. The relegation to deep right field, task wise, happens nearly instantaneously with the submission of your resignation EXCEPT for onerous, time-consuming tasks that are already on your plate, which you will apparently continue to have to do even after you leave.

4. As if they can't help themselves, your receptionist will casually scrutinize the contents of every box of personal crap you depart with, searching for pilferage, espcially things you are stealing that she had on her own To Steal list.

5. At least one person will cry upon hearing the news of your departure; this will be the person least likely to engender any sympathy by doing so. In fact, it will make you feel a wee bit disgusted.

6. At least three people will ask you, surreptitiously, to keep them in mind once you get settled in case other positions open up. One of these will be the crier.

On the upside: like children and madmen, you can say ANYTHING YOU WANT and what are they going to do, fire you?? Pffft! Suck it, haters. Anyone wants my opinion on something - current management styles? profitability? employee peccadilloes, past and present? "whither ECI?" - get the unexpurgated version. They want the truth? BUt they CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!! Bwahahahahahahahhahahahahhahah! cough cough heh cough.

On the other hand? If you think that you are going to be able to load up on pr0n because you are now "beyond the reach" of IT's ludicrous anti-pervo rules, think again, homeslice.

Take this job and shove it: Addendum

The worst part? Training your replacement.

I won't even have a replacement. All 18 of us layofees at DumbCorp have been made redundant. Although they're still riding our asses about productivity. I was warned to keep my numbers up or I'd be in trouble. I have to work hard to keep the job I know I'm losing in just over a month. Plus we have to attend all these meetings where the rest of the company yaps about how they're entering a 'new era.' My life is getting more surreal by the moment.

Not a problem! I'm not being replaced.

Bit of a ding to the ego, that. Luckily, I have an ample supply of grain-based ego bolstering medicine.

How about this, Jon - we're so irreplaceable they aren't even going to try!

I'm amazed that they are letting you stay around, Fes. In many evil places, if you give them two weeks, they hand you a cardboard box and ask you to clean out your desk, and then follow you to the door.

Jon, making you attend cheer rallies for the future they'll have without you? Now there's some cold hearted shit.

Cheeta can create a beautiful painting for you. Cheeta has many canvases that are available for a donation.

ColdChef, I see you hatching a plot to dress your young-un up in a monkey suit, and sell refrigerator-worthy art for $125 a crack.

I was going to advise against it, but on second thought, it's brilliant. Do it.

Dress her up in a monkey suit?

I suppose that would be slightly easier than having her DNA spliced with chimp genes. Hmmm. We'll try it your way first.

Spoilsport.

Ludicrous alert: I have to take a drug test for a PR job. Upside: there's no test yet in the field that can successfuly detect a delicious Nyquil-n-Tamiflu smoothie.

Don't forget, NY monkeys, I'm coming to your town. Please try not to rob me while I'm there.

At last, CC will learn what it's like to shoot up some delicious heroin!

They have heroin in Louisiana. It's just not as stepped on. Try the spearmint, Chef!

Does crack come in different flavors, too? I want to try bacon ranch.

In case anyone is on the fence about whether or not they want to join us.

heck, to see ColdChef, I'd even go back to a MeFi meetup! I'll be working till 8:30 or so, but I take it you'll still be going strong around nine...

See? That's the spirit! I'll be the one in the Yankees cap, I *heart* NY teeshirt, and "9/11: Never Forget" jacket, while eating a bagel, singing "Broadway Hits of the 80's", and trying to read a subway map.

I think it may be time for an intervention.

He's like the Bionic Man at this point.

My respect for and, let's be honest, fear of the commish increases with each passing day.

Dude, he's like a combination of the Incredible Hulk and Evel Knievel at this point.

YHBC SMASH!!!

Who eats two steaks at a time?

The commish does!

Did I ever tell you about the time the commish went hunting? He decides he's going to hunt down all four of the Banana Splits. He stalks and kills every one of them with a machete. They all begged for their lives... except Fleagle.

To the commish!

To Fleagle!

To Bill Frist, who reeks of silverback testosterone!

One backhanded swipe could break Frist's neck.

Missed opportunity.

I thought that was one of the most bizarre blowjobs I've ever seen in the newspaper...and not one I expected to see in the WaPo at all. WTF?

It's a jungle bodice-ripper.

He unbuttoned his business shirt, revealing jungle-pattern surgical scrubs and a pair of hairy, toned biceps.... and a daring loincloth that revealed a majesty of silverback-sized proportions. "Oh, doctor," I panted, "make me your ape-woman!"

Congrats Fes! (late to the party yet again)

Was that Miguel I saw? Or a teddy bear? I'm confused.

I'm going to meet Cold Chef tonight! Any requests?

Any requests?

To All the Girls I've Loved Before or Delta Dawn.

Also, a rubdown and a tunafish sandwich.

I'll take the roast beef and swiss on rye, no mayo.

I'll see what I can do. But if Cold Chef slaps me for giving him a rubdown with a tuna and/or roast beef sandwich, we'll know who's to blame.

If "rubdown with a tuna sandwich" isn't a euphamism for something, it outta be.

I gotcher "roast beef and swiss" right 'ere...

I think that's mayo. Or ... maybe ... not ...

So, Fes, how's the new gig?

Haven't started yet! This week is my last at Evil Corp - in the office tomorrow, then down to the Lair of Lairs on Tuesday and Wednesday, fun people party Tuesday evening, then Wednesday culminates in the big Meeting Where I Pretend To Tell The Truth and They Pretend To Give A Shit, followed by the august and sonorous ceremony of the returning of the company laptop (which I have used as my personal work and play machine for nearly two years since the noble death of Abulafia The First, and upon which I type even now). Thursday and Friday I'm lame-ducking it here in my office, where (since I will be almost totally unable to do anything of substance, having transferred all my duties and destroyed all my negatives) I will hold a spasmodic court, interspersed with lunches of significant length and girth, wherein I will regale my erstwhile colleagues with tales of my previous derring-do on behalf of ECI, including ninja attacks, narrow escapes, events of prodigious calumny and egregious hilarity, and recountings of peccadiloes and trystings of those blessed souls who have Gone Before, before taking my leave Friday evening, after my bon voyage fete across the boulevard, to be held on the deck at Shannon's new pub.

By next Wednesday, it'll be all "Fes who?"

I start with Granola, Ltd. on the 12. Had lunch with one of my new bosses week before last, they've got a laundry list with my name on it runs to three pages already, and hippie hotshots waiting in the wings to call dibs 'ere I get a breath. Me likey :)

Also: they're giving me a webphone!

What's great is when you see them all again, you can tell them how much you used to steal from them. Both monetarily and in time wasted.

I took much joy in telling my previous manager (at the hotel) how, on football weekends, I used to clear at least $400 in bribes for hotel reservations and wait-list skipping.

Abulafia!

(but what we all wanna know now, Chef, is: do you take bribes in your current job?)

I'll bet the dead are lousy tippers.

One of my best friends agreed to make me his sole benefactor if I tell everyone that while he was being dressed for the casket, I got a peek at his ENORMOUS junk. Easy money.

It is done.

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