Well that’s it – we had to fire Miguel. We made sure to point at him and say his name at every single work Christmas party we’ve had, and fifteen years in he decides he knows better than us.
“Please Sirs,” he says, “please sirs, might you stop paying me in potatoes?” Miguel – you ridiculous fool! We’ve been doing what’s best for you and your family of eight! Your children can’t eat cash!
We did so much for him. Maybe we should have done more. Maybe we should have let him live in his janatorial closet. Move the mop and there’s be plenty of room for him and two of his kids to lean and sleep. Rotate in shifts and the whole family’s covered. He’s just lucky we’re not like Marc Brilleman. He’s a would-be reality TV exec who recently got charged with the kidnapping and false imprisonment of several of his female contestants.
Which makes us think… Miguel, you can have your wife back. Pick her up in back of our mansion. We suppose you won’t even appreciate that her hands smell of potato.
