Why I Hate Brock

This is an email I wrote last week at work out of jealousy. Before you read on I should give you some background. Brock is a great guy. He comes from a pretty history as I do and we share the same sense of humor. He is 6'6" which makes him a giant, plush teddy bear who should be able to dunk. He can't dunk by the way. I hope he reads this as a reminder of that. Brock went on a week long vacation to Florida with his longtime girlfriend. This left me to fend for myself.

To: Mr. [Brock]

Introduction
As I sit here at my Desk of Death it is Thursday and I hate you. Usually my intense hatred for most things is turned into something constructive. Useful things such as slamming my head into my keyboard, ruthlessly making fun of people, or slowly pushing a pin into my palm. However, today has been simply awful and the fact that each time I raise my gorgeous head I notice you are gone. This then reminds me that you are in Florida, with your girlfriend, getting a tan, and probably drinking a beer. Each time I am reminded I go into a full on seizure. This happened about thirty minutes ago. As I woke up with my tongue bit half-way through, completely soiled jeans, and still frothing at the mouth, I decided to write you the reasons I hate you today.

You Are In Florida
This is probably the most obvious reason that I hate you today. I am at my desk getting ear raped by the angry bottom of the lower class. At the same time you are in Florida high-fiving Mickey Mouse while riding on the back of a pack of dolphins. You are a tall dude so it takes more than one or two dolphins. I sit here contemplating ways I can cause SHC (spontaneous human combustion) to myself while you pick lobster straight from the ocean that is so warm it cooks the sea life at the perfect edible temperature. Your teeth go through the shell as if you are biting into a ripe tomato. While I am forced into awkward and cancer causing conversations, you sit on a floatee in a salt water pool as sea turtles swim your Corona to you. Don’t worry; it comes with a lime. I hate you.

[Melanie] Is Across From Me Today
This week has been an abyss of self loathing at work for many different reasons. Today, God decided to punt his human hackey-sack (me) across the quad. God is a stoned college kid wasting his parents money in this metaphor. Melanie has been sitting across from me today. I already didn’t get much sleep last night because I stayed up too late being awesome. It is catching up to me now and the fact that her talking is the equivalent of drill sergeant screaming into a bull horn that’s been turned up all the way does not a good day make. Not only does she have a shrill voice, (seriously, I would rather hear a stuttering Miss Piggy as my internal voice the rest of my life) but her headset is up so loud I can hear that too! At this point I believe I have the right to lash out physically or request that, because I am part of her calls, that I should get partial credit. I am not asking for the whole thing, but I feel 70% would keep me from setting myself on fire. I could also create a section for [CaptainDiabetes] and [PossibleTranny]'s man voice today, but I will refrain. I hate you.

Who Do You Think You Are?
I mean, seriously, come on. What gives you the right? We all sit here shuffling this mortal coil (Shakespeare reference. You’re welcome) and you don’t have to? Why!? Just because your girlfriend (who is lovely by the way) asks you to go to Florida for free does NOT mean you can just pick up and go. Am I the only one that has heard of “No Man Left Behind?” And, no, that is not a homosexual pornographic film, Brock. It’s an actual saying that some of us take seriously. I disagree with you obvious assumption that you are better than everyone here. Taller? Yes. Better? No, no, no. I hate you.

Conclusion
I feel as though you go off easy in this email that I am now calling, “The Memoirs of My Dignity.” The simple fact that I have gone through all of this while you haven’t had to is infuriating. With each passing day that I arrive to work and realize you are not subjected to the horrors of everyday life my rage grows. Ever see Honey, I Blew Up The Kids? The dad creates a growth ray and accidentally shoots his toddler which, of course, causes him to grow at a rapid pace until he is the size of a skyscraper. That is basically what my rage has been doing all week. Now my rage is a giant toddler who tries eating a giant fake donut on top of a bakery. If you haven’t seen the movie that reference will be lost on you. Either way, once you return to God’s Country my rage and hatred will be here. Waiting. Plotting. I hate you.

P.S.
I encourage all those attached to this email to also let Brock know why you hate him.