Mr. Latimer. Draw it out, say the name long and slow. Dear Mister Latimer. You are a terribly cliché and ridiculous man. You know the big bad boss in movies who always gets what he wants but gets what he actually deserves in the end? Yeah. You’re him. But I'm not sure that you’re aware of this sad, sad fact, Mr. Latimer.
Let me clear it up for you.
The truth is sir that you are really no boss at all. You are the most pathetic boss I have ever seen; lowest, in fact on the ladder of bosses. Of all corporations and businesses and successful financial endeavors, yours is the first rung. And you, my good, no, bad man, are hanging off of that rung by the tips of your fingers. One finger, your pinky finger. That's the weakest of all your phalanges, or… at least the ones on your hands. Just FYI.
But really, have you glanced in the mirror? What could an incredibly sexy woman like that redhead you’ve got nibbling on your ear half the time, possibly see in YOU? I really don’t know, can’t figure it out for the life of me.
Money. She sees those beautiful green— not eyes, but bills: lovely little dollars just begging to be taken out of your wallet, your pocket, your bank account and deducted from your credit card. That is the only reason she sticks around. She’s a material girl looking for some cash to satisfy her needs. And she doesn’t care if it comes from a company built on lies, oppression, and pathetic benefits.
That doesn’t matter though, Mr. Latimer, sir, because I’m not going to get involved in your romantic life. That would be creepy. And besides that, you are giving me a pay raise. So I’m out of here.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Latimer!”