Dear Chop, Fuck

[susandennis]

So I'm waiting all morning for a spreadsheet of names and addresses I need that I am to merge into a letter. The fuckchop who's to provide said spreadsheet is one of those creatures that God put on this earth to ensure I am never mistaken for a person who is kind or compassionate. The guy just brings out the worst in me and there's a lot of that to bring out.

He sends me the spreadsheet without the zip codes. These are postal letters that you want merged, you idiot. I'm not doing it without zip codes.

He sends me the spreadsheet with names as Last, First. So you want the letter to say Dear Last, First?? I send it back.

I'm waiting now for the next volley. This is the same fuckchop who, last week, noted in an email to management that the production time for generating these direct mail pieces seemed unnecessarily elongated. (So will your balls, if you keep messing with me there, Mr. Chop, Fuck.)