Resignation Letter

Dear Mr. Snidely,
It is with unbridled elation and irrepressible giddiness that I offer you my long anticipated letter of resignation. Although I certainly appreciate the opportunity you afforded me, found the work quite exhilarating, and genuinely enjoyed the challenges my job presented, that 90-day probationary period ended oh so long ago. While it’s true I won’t be shedding any tears upon packing up my belongings, it’s the people here who I will ignore the most as I’m escorted from the building (get your own f*ckin’ Tupperware people!!).
Anyway, I’ve decided to join the 14% of the workforce who claim they enjoy what they do (14% - 10% unemployed = 4% happy AND working). It’s not that I think the large amount of lottery tickets I purchase weekly will pan out, nor do I think my next job will offer enough financial security to call it, “making a living”. But as Stephen Baldwin once said (right before he bit into his block of cheese with a warm bottle of Mad Dog at his side and cocked the hammer), “Money isn’t everything”.  (What? Stephen Baldwin's still alive?)
Nonetheless, I can no longer attempt to ignore the general malaise that accompanies my job responsibilities. The daily routine here at work produces an unbearable ennui from which the only escape is a non-judgmental bottle of Red Label on Saturdays, followed by plenty of aspirin and quality family time on Sunday afternoon between 2:30 and 3:15. Therefore, it is now with great hesitation and delusions of blogging grandeur that I offer you my letter of resignation on this fine day. Do not attempt to persuade me to stay with promises of a larger cubical or a fancy new whiteboard as my mind is already made up. Furthermore…

(Voice of co-worker): "Hey man, are you joining us for lunch or what?"

"Already? Yeah, I’m right behind you."

Ahh fuck it.