If you're one of the approximately 0.013 people who read this blog, you probably know that I just looooooove my job. I love it sooooooo much. I love my job the way Romeo loved Juliet. I love my job the way Joanie loved Chachi. I love my job the way Tom Cruise loves Richard Gere.

Therefore, since I love my job so damn much, there's no chance of me ever getting dooced, because I'd never write anything bad about my employer at my blog. Oh, nooooooo. No sir! Not me!

My friend Darvel, however, isn't as lucky as I am. It is my good fortune to work for a group of effective, brilliant, glorious, energetic, debonair, fragrant, attractive, wholesome, comely gentlemen. Darvel doesn't share that good fortune. I received another e-mail from him today, and I'm posting it here at the blog more or less as a public service. I'm assuming that you, like me, are fortunate enough to work under the guidance of godlike geniuses. I'm posting Darvel's e-mail just to remind us all not to take our wonderful bosses for granted.

He writes:

My department manager is some kind of &#$%#@$ robot. He has got to be a robot because real human beings can not function if they're as &#$%#@$ stupid as this guy is. If a real human being were this &#$%#@$ stupid, he'd eventually forget to breathe and fall over dead somewhere.

He's stupid… and yet he's also evil. I'd have never thought it possible. I used to be convinced that genuinely stupid people weren't capable of real evil… but I've come to believe that evil itself is actually fully fermented stupidity. Once you become purely stupid enough, you are capable of the most diabolical malfeasance.

So I'm sure that he's a robot. He's a robot, and he's programmed to be some sort of bizarre hybrid of these two people:

Dwight Vader. That's him.

Recently, our department had a full mechanical shutdown so that various pieces of equipment could be replaced, upgraded, broken, or simply taken and hidden by disenchanted mechanics. I and the people who work in our area were hopeful that the many, many, many technical/mechanical problems that we have to deal with on a day to day basis might be addressed. Maybe some work would even be done on some of those problems. Maybe… just maybe… some of those problems would even be corrected! It was possible (unlikely, I admit, but possible) that Dwight Vader would actually arrange to have some of our shabby equipment fixed and/or replaced. This is, after all, equipment that is hopelessly outdated and literally falling apart around us.

Ha!

What did Dwight Vader, instead, arrange to have done in our area? He arranged to have a flashing red light installed. A flashing red light that let's us know when DEPARTMENT EQUIPMENT ISN'T OPERATING CORRECTLY.

Let me see if I can explain this in simple terms that everyone can relate to. Imagine that Dwight Vader were an Emergency Room doctor and you went to see him because you had a broken arm. And I don't mean a hairline fracture, I mean a severe, ugly, bloody compound fracture. Imagine that you go see Dr. Dwight Vader hoping for help and his solution to your problem is to take a big red Sharpie magic marker and write "YOU HAVE A BROKEN ARM" on your forehead.

He's evil. He's evil and he's stupid and he's a &#$%#@$ robot. He has to be.

So tomorrow, when you, like me, report for duty to your ever-dependable, prudent and sagacious leaders, keep Darvel in mind. Keep him in mind and say a prayer of gratitude for your gifted and gainful supervision.

I know that I sure will.