Memo to the powers that be who run this loathsome mold pit in the Vampire State's bougiest town.

 

​To:  Personnel Department

From: Akaky

Subject: Your suggestion that I attend work meetings at the office on 26 July this year.

 

 No. Not just no, but hell no! I am ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY NO TWO DAMN WAYS ABOUT IT NOT going to be available for anything work-related on Saturday, July 26 of this year. I will be in New Jersey attending my step-niece's (assuming that being a step-niece is an actual thing and not a ploy by the wedding industry to expand the number of people whose weddings I must shell out money for) and not celebrating my birthday. Carly can do what she wants in New Jersey on my birthday; she's a big girl now and if she wants to spend the weekend getting married then more power to her, although I don't understand why anyone would choose to do anything in New Jersey, but that's on me. Frankly, while I think Mel is a very nice guy, she could do a lot better, even in New Jersey. Just my opinion, you understand. No disrespect intended. Like I said, Mel is a very nice guy, but Carly is a deeply attractive young woman and Mel is a deeply…well, he is a very nice guy.

 Be that as it may, my uncle Peter chose to die and be buried in New Jersey, for example, but I ascribe that choice to propinquity—he was already in New Jersey when he died and the cost of shipping him home to Ireland so he could rest with his people was beyond whatever counted as prohibitively expensive at the time. What I really do not understand is why he would choose to be buried behind a McDonald's franchise. This could be a case of extreme brand loyalty; Uncle Peter was very fond of the Filet—o—Fish sandwich, or so people tell me—but whatever the reason, the idea of a cemetery directly behind a McDonald's is somewhat disquieting on a number of different levels, the first of which is that it makes me wonder just what that particular McDonald’s is putting in their Quarter Pounders with cheese.  I do not want to go there but it really does make you think, doesn’t it?