This is a letter you asked me to send you.You asked me to send you this correspondence after a year if you didn't have your shit together. Your exact words were, "I know I'm your boss Cedric, but if I'm still don't have my shit together in a year's time, please send me a memo or something reminding me to get my house in order.
Cast your mind back. It was one year ago today and you were headed off to the Neonatal ICU to see The Contrarian. I mentioned that there was a list of things needing your attention as long as my tentacle. You looked at me and said: "Yeah, about that list. Things might get kind of weird around here with the baby. Lots of jazz hands. Catch as catch can with time. Don't think less of me Cedric."
Those were your exact words.
I can't exactly complain. Octorian females raise clutches of two or three thousand young who have four times as many arms as humans, so I think your failure is a little on the "cry me a river" side of life, but I've got no real tentacle to stand on since Octorian males die shortly after mating and leave all the uncomfortable talks to the women (and weird monastic uncles). Anyway, the point is, it's been a year, so it is time to get back off your ass. Let me remind you of the list of issues.
- The tentative armistice with my people (after you tricked them into fighting ninjas sent to kill you for hating on NaNo, and then sent an army of pLinks to their dimension, and then gave them a high yield nuclear warhead disguised as a cloning device, and then got an A-Team to spell out their name in bullets on their war commander's torso) is tenuous at best and based on you not trying to explore any more interdimensional technology.
- The SciGuy is currently exploring interdimensional technology. He is doing this (at a cost of trillions in equipment and labor hours) because Lt. Lambaste said he was cute before she died, and he wants to find a dimension in which she has neither died nor friendzoned him. You understand I'm telling you that your spending trillions and risking a second interdimentensional war because the SciGuy is socially awkward around women.
- You have had the Writing About Writing broadcast signal hacked multiple times. Usually it is simply to send an Evil Mystery Blogger post out on our behalf, but a few months ago, we also discovered that he was intercepting all the submitted guest blog posts, and that except for the occasional list that Ima gave you physically, you were simply not getting what they wrote.
- You have been told multiple times that the Evil Mystery Blogger posts have breached the extensive firewall security by being uploaded from within the compound. This means we have a mole.
- You have managed to conduct only one interview with the staff to determine the identity of the mole. That interview ended abruptly when she threatened to do a spinning crescent kick on your left pupil. So technically you know nothing.
- You continue to ignore the entire staff pointing out that if you do have a mole, it is probably the EVIL CLONE OF YOU living in the basement.
- Oh by the way, there's an evil clone of you living in the basement.
- Leela Bruce has refused to do any more of her Kicking the Shit Out of Bad Writing Advice segment until you get more women in here because she's tired of the sausagefest.
- You technically got three more women and then forgot to give them a time slot. So they've been staying in the compound for months now, just living off of the cafeteria's sloppy joes and enjoying free rent.
- Guy Goodman St. White has developed a severe drinking problem since watching a colleague get killed by cephalopods. The last thing he turned in was just the words "Knock knock? Speculative fiction blows," written in crayon.
- I know you don't think this is a problem but you have a guy LIVING on the second floor who nobody knows except that he tries to give them cheese slices if they go up there. WHERE IS HE GETTING ALL THESE CHEESE SLICES FROM???
- You are still pretentious as hell, and everyone on staff is getting tired of being paid in Brech's Bucks. I'm pretty sure there's going to be a strike if you don't raise our salaries to double digits.
So what do we say? Break's over?
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