This article is part of the Memos from Bear Cave series.

To: All Employees of Bear Cave
Date: February 15, 1981
Subject: My New Best Friends

Don't mind the Persian men here. They are my friends. Yes, I have friends. Unlike you ingrates, these are true friends. We understand each other. We like a manly soup and appreciate strong leadership. They call me the "Ayatollah of Soup" and give me thumbs ups all the time. We're looking at pornography together in my office, so don't even think about bothering us.

To: All Employees of Bear Cave
Date: February 15, 1981
Subject: Bathroom Policy

I got wind from Tall Charlie that some of you are bitching about our visitors having free reign in the bathroom. Unlike you, they have permission to flush without my oversight. That's not your concern. These men are smart enough to know whether they deserve a flush. Besides, with the way we've been drinking and eating, I know a flush is warranted. More than one in fact.

On an unrelated note, some government suits or going to be coming by and dropping off a few shipping containers full of missiles. Don't touch 'em if you want to keep your jobs. They'll be gone in a few days anyway.

To: All Employees of Bear Cave
Date: February 18, 1981
Subject: The Latinos in the Parking Lot

Some of you have been concerned about the Latinos testing out rocket launchers in our parking lot. Mind your own damn business.

Don't flatter yourself: I don't pay you to worry about which South American paramilitary organization buys and tests weapons in our parking lot. You can barely handle keeping this business operational, so worry about that. We've got triple the soup to produce for our new client state anyway.

Besides, me and my new friends aren't worried. We're shooting rockets, too. You idiots may as well be a bunch of pinko Sandinista cowards with the way you're all crying foul over some minor explosions.

To: All Employees of Bear Cave
Date: February 19, 1981
Subject: We're Ruined and It's Tall Charlie's Fault

Thanks to Tall Charlie screwing up, my idiot rockabilly sons were able to meander into the office and ruin everything I have worked for in life. Those useless shits even introduced themselves as my progeny to my Persian friends, then produced an upright bass, guitar and goddamn bongo drums and started playing the worst racket in the world.

I couldn't look the Persians in the eyes anymore, and all they could do was laugh and call me "Macho Daddy Elvis." I have only failed at one thing ever in life: allowing my sperm to impregnate women who gave birth to no-good rockabillies.

Anyway, that's what sparked the shootout in the soupyards this morning that resulted in several trucks blowing up and CIA operatives storming the office. And that's why there are so many dead bodies as well.

The good news is Tall Charlie screwed up for the last time. I could fire him for his failure, but he'd just get treatment for his alcoholism, reconcile with his estranged wife and daughter and get a better job. That does me no good. He's going to remain here under my employ, where he will forever suffer for ruining our new business arrangement with Iran, Nicaragua and the CIA.

To: All Employees of Bear Cave
Date: February 19, 1981
Subject: Correction

Please disregard the typo in that last memo. I meant to say "Iowa, Nebraska and California," three top markets for soups.

– Josh "Livestock" Boruff (@Livestock)

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About this series

Memos sent from Bear Cave Soup's eccentric president to his poor, beleaguered employees.

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