You're like a bowl of fresh Matza ball soup in my otherwise dreary day. With your cute little proofreaders' marks and editorial comments--oh my god, you must think you work at a real magazine? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha....
Just as your fan-hogging tendencies were squashed where they stood, so will your respect for the publisher (The Man) and editor-in-chief (Queen of the Harpies) of this fine community publication. By the way, have you met Her Majesty and her fabulous Sevens??
Of course not; she's too busy adding highlights to her hair and retouching her French manicure to be bothered with tiny details like editing her own magazine! Be real!!
You are so diligent in your work that it almost breaks my heart. You think you are serving a purpose, making a difference, but you are only a pawn in The Man's sick game of, "Watch Me Ruin Your Life With A Flick of my Wrist."
Yes, my dear, you were brought on to replace one of us poor worker-ants, perhaps me with my scathing reviews of the Four Horsemen and the dribble they force me to churn out for peanuts every month that you are reading right now; perhaps not. It doesn't matter. You will replace, we will loathe you. Slowly but surely, you will become bitter and jaded like the rest of us, and The Man will notice and start to interview your replacement while still barking orders in your direction. You will notice this especially if Her Majesty and her Sevens are too chicken to come into work and face you- that way she can feign ignorance at your departure.
You will soon learn.
I just hope that, unlike the rest of us working stiffs, you'll have the option to walk out and tell The Man to go fuck himself.
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