Dear Disgruntled Employee,

I am sorry that the few brief make-out sessions that we had while I was utterly intoxicated make you feel that you have the right to come to work and act little a moody bitch every day (though these situations occurred six months ago) whenever I check out the mailman or talk about the hot piece of ass I tried to snatch up last night. I am sorry that you cannot seem to control your emotions, but let's face it...that's really your problem, not mine...isn't it? So let's stop kidding ourselves about a non-existent moment and move on to other the hot mailman, or the hot piece of ass I was trying to snatch last night. Furthermore, your questionable sexual preference is starting to make me uncomfortable. Don't turn my alcoholism into a foray for experimentations into whether you are really a raging homo or not (and if you are- that's great...let's go shopping for shoes and hair care products!).

Kisses! (just kidding),

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