Dear Filthy Blanket Stealer,

How dare you come into my sacred work space (a shabby beige cubicle with pics of my parent's beagles in it and a clipping from a Wall Street Journal article I placed, it's Walt Mossberg people, that is like the holy grail of consumer tech PR) and steal my most prized possession (other than my energy sucking, ecologically unfriendly space heater): my fluffy, cuddly, company logoed blanket.

I used to spend my days basking in the warmth of Blankie, able to contribute brilliant thoughts in brainstorms and meetings for clients. Blankie and I would knock 'em dead every day, him with his warmth and comfort, me with my amazing ideas. Now I sit shivering in fucking freezing windowless conference rooms, concentrating on my hands' shade of blue while plotting your slow, painful death. I have always been anti-capital punishment, but I have changed my ways. You deserve death by refrigerator, for you, blanket thief, are a blight on humanity.

I think often about when you committed the crime. Was it after-hours? Was it when I left at 5PM to hit up yet another dive bar happy hour? Or was it in the wee hours of the morning, 8:45AM? Were you walking by and saw the blanket hanging over my desk chair and thought, "By God, there is an unclaimed blanket! I must have this blanket in my life!" or was it more, "I hate that bitch, I must take her most valued possession. Her work computer? No. Her blanket." Do you laugh at night, thinking of me shivering, crying, wondering where Blankie went? I certainly hope not, because there are no tears here, and not only because I am too cold and exhausted from shivering to cry. I have only vengeful thoughts of retaliation via cubicle hate crime. I will not waste this valuable revenge plotting time on crying (usually my revenge plotting time involves looking up "freezing death revenge" on Google Images and cackling).

I hope hell does freeze over, and may it be a blanket-less hell at that. You deserve nothing less, for you are a depraved, cubicle dwelling felon.

You make me sick (no really, I have a cold from the air conditioning),

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