Thursday, February 19, 2004

Employee of the Month Rafael Santiago is not the sort of worker you’re gonna want, no matter how hard up for help you are. To call him an employers nightmare is an understatement. The New Jersey man has been arrested and charged with sending threatening letters to President Bush up to ten businesses. All the letters contained a return address for a former boss, J.P. Haney  who had fired him last December. J.P., needless to say, was not pleased upon being questioned, but was able to identify Santiago’s handwriting. Santiago admitted sending the letters as revenge on his female boss. All the letters are reportedly pretty far over the top. The letter to Bush threatened to both kill and injure him. The text is not available. A letter to JC Penny corporate offices also showed over-reaching on Santiago’s part, threatening both to destroy their building  and to damage it with explosives.  The letter also contained funny money and attachments, part of most of his packages. There were counterfeit C notes, some smaller frequency, and a note which read in part "You will be attacked by a suicide bomber on February 25. God Day. And you will all Die. Saddam Hussein is my God and I will kill for him. The President Bush will Die soon." A letter to Communications Data Services caused the evacuation of 300 employees from the magazine subscription firm when a white powder (later identified as baking soda) leaked out. The woman who opened the letter and 45 other people got to go through decontamination, always a pleasant experience. Parts of this letter were available to the press. "I saw the news of Saddam Hussein capture on every (profanity) channel. I was mad as hell. You (profanity) people at Muscle & Fitness make me (profanity) mad. That the U.S.A. capture my god Saddam Hussein. You will all die for this on Feb. 12. They will be a attack on you. A suicide bomber will kill you all. You will all be (profanity) kill." Later the letter claimed "I will kill for my God Saddam Hussein will be free soon!" During interviews with the FBI and Secret Service, Santiago expressed remorse. Isn’t that surprising? "He never intended to hurt anybody," said public defender Christopher O'Malley. "He had no intention whatsoever to hurt the president or companies or people." As we say to criminal assholes everywhere, “tell it to the hand.” 7:46:04 PM    comment []

Three Ways to Friday There were three ways to Friday, and none of them were easy. Not to add undue emphasis to the previous statement, but none of the solutions were even doable, okay, at least from a historic vantage point. They had been contemplated before. They had been attempted. But, success? Not at this juncture… Way one to Friday: cross the moat. It is an old fashioned method, to be sure, but very effective nonetheless. In a high-tech world, the enemy would often appear in a low-tech context. Superb and strong, they would fight much like the ancient kings, a sword in front, a laser in back, and a wide devil-may-care grin. Their bravado always had the potential to carry them over the top. “Benjy, are you getting ready for bed?” Benjy. She had called him Benjy. How little she knew of his true nature. Agent Friday shelved the heartache. It was best left this way. Way two to Friday: successful landing on the castle helipad. This would be truly daring considering how well fortified the castle top was, and the sophistication of the missile defense currently deployed here in West Goodland. Suicidal. “Benjy! Lights out in five minutes. It’s your bedtime. Way three to Friday: teleportation. This one worried him. Frankly, Friday did not understand teleportation, and it was in his nature to distrust what he didn’t understand. It was times such as these that Friday felt the burden of his young age, and he would worry that perhaps he did not possess sufficient skill and cunning to provide the sort of leadership West Goodland so desperately needed at this historic juncture. Ah, screw it. If the miserable citizens were not supportive of his labors, let them rise up and seize the control of this godforsaken planet. Bedtime my ass, muttered Agent Friday, as he called up his trusty companion Jocko on the telesponder. Jocko was not your ordinary super intelligent costume wearing Chimpanzee spacer ranger, oh no, he was also Agent Friday’s closest friend. Jocko was better than people at keeping secrets, and better than monkeys at shooting a gun. Teleportation. That possibility was weighing heavy on Friday. He just didn’t understand the concept. His mother ripped a seam in the space-time continuum, and thrust open a door where there was no door. She aimed her sonic reducer at his neck where the skin showed pink, effectively ending his mission and his life. Game over. Set. Done. There were four ways to Friday…                                                                                                                                                   May 03 12:22:07 PM    comment []

Dawn 7:52:08 AM    comment []

Thanks, Howard. Good Fortune. 7:51:25 AM    comment []

7:49:57 AM    comment []