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POISON PEN

Because sometimes, “fuck you, you fuckin’ fuck,” just doesn’t cut it. Such was the case when a client asked me to write something very nasty to a bureaucrat that was nothing less than an asshole.

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Yeah, well, you’re a bureaucrat and always will be. That’s your punishment, loser.

Do you even know what a bureaucrat is? No, of course you don’t, so I’m gonna tell you.

They are the kids that none of us liked when we were children. The ones none of us would play with or talk to. Our dislike of them was instinctive but short-lived. However, long after we had moved on and forgotten about their existence, their hatred for us grew, unfettered.

After they complete high school they evolve (or devolve) into Gollum-like creatures. They live in horrible little hidey holes – dank, dark basement suites full of bugs, which they roast on tin plates, over dung fires on the concrete floor, and eat in a sauce made of the gelatinous brine that oozes from the filth holes of the skanky crack-whores they fuck with the money they steal from the petty cash drawers at the office.

Their misery knows no bounds, whatsoever. They revel in their own misery. While the rest of us are on the mountain, or at the beach, or in the bar, having a good time, the weaselly bureaucrats are fingering their bloated rule books with their greasy paws and thinking of new ways to make life more difficult for the rest of us. Obsessed with his desire to make us as miserable as he is, the bureaucrat corresponds with others of his ilk and they conspire and exchange ideas on how to better create an atmosphere of angst amongst all who are unfortunate enough to come into contact with them, or theirs.

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