Ron, we have been business partners for nearly 18 years, and in that time you have no doubt learned I am a man who speaks his mind. After our first disastrous Christmas party, for example, your old buddy Steve here filled you in on just how much fun the night would be with a little bit of alcohol present. And while I understand that the occasional paternity suit isn't the best way to kick off a new year, you have to admit, a night of ribaldry and the subsequent re-staffing of the entire typing pool sure makes up for the hassle of unwanted children. Hey -- with legs like that, who could have guessed Cheryl would give birth to a kid without them? Ah, see! Now there's that smile I remember. Tragic, though. A real shame.
For even when we were with you, we would give you this command: If anyone is not willing to work, let him not eat.Ron, if you would forgive any presumptions on my part, I feel it is time for me to once again steady your hand on the wheel as we travel this, the great Cordless Phone Industry Sea. Admittedly, your untested plan of including the text "Now with 20% less cord!" on the packaging of our latest model pulled us out of the red last year. But this was only a quick fix; consumers are just now beginning to remember the cord never existed in the first place. Needless to say, they are not happy. And I do not believe this new "African marketing strategy" you picked up during your six-month sabbatical will be the deciding factor in this company's future.
Over and over, Ron, I have asked about our new office policy of "hakuna matata." Again and again, you reply, "It means no worries for the rest of your days." Ron, no amount of inflatable palm trees are going to make up for the fact that sales have been down 88 percent this year -- not to mention this entry in our ledger titled "AFRICA" with "ask me later" written where the debit should be. Ron, I have noticed many changes in our corporate culture lately: the violent enforcement of "Hawaiian Shirt Weekdays," a sharp increase in cubicle hammocks, and the confusing presence of luau music piped in through the P.A. system at all hours. Ron, we're out there getting our asses handed to us, and all you can do is sit there with your feet up, smoking a comically huge cigar?
I don't mean to speak out of turn, but in my tenure as your chief financial offer, I must address the extreme irresponsibility I witness from the moment I step off of the inflatable slide to the second I reach the bottom of the fire pole at quitting time -- by the way, OSHA will be coming by this Tuesday to meet with you about those. Let's go over some of these memos you replied to, if you don't mind. "Ron, please sign off on this expense report for fire extinguisher replacement." Your response: "Hakuna matata." "Ron, the CordFri 4000 assembly line killed another nine workers at the antenna feeder." "Hakuna matata." "Ron, the hospital called to let you know your wife has succumbed to her eight-year struggle with ovarian cancer." YOUR WIFE, RON.
The soul of the sluggard craves and gets nothing, while the soul of the diligent is richly supplied.Ron, I don't where you picked up this "problem-free philosophy," but I hope you kept the receipt. I appreciate the ceramic skull and bottle of Tequila you purchased as souvenirs in rural Africa, but next time you should spend that money on buying your business associates a clue. From my perspective, this whole "hakuna matata" thing is just some cooked-up excuse to come into work half drunk and listen to Jimmy Buffet. This is no way to run a business, or a life. Ron, are you sincerely trying to start a cult or something like it? I only ask because last Thursday I watched Jacob from sales devour an entire plate of living bugs. Jacob, who got his second Master's with me in '79 and graduated with honors. Jacob, the godfather of my two children.
I didn't want to be the one to tell you this, Ron, but this entire place stinks like the inside of a rotten pineapple. There's garbage all over the floor, and yesterday rats ate most of my coat and a vital portion of my belt. Mark my words, this "hakuna matata" will be the death of us. You did it, Ron -- you brought this dark incantation from the heart of Africa, and it has poisoned you. We are swimming in a punch bowl of disease and madness. I have not seen my family in days. Why haven't the police come for me, Ron? What did you tell them? I try to think of their phone numbers, and the only thing that comes to mind are those damn words: "hakuna matata." I'll make sure they carve that on your headstone.
Sir Mix-a-Lot's classic follow up to "Baby Got Back" has serious unintended consequences.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
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