I've got you now, Foster.
I have tried, in my own subtle way, to make my disdain for you known, in the hopes that you might seek greener pastures at some other place of employment, most likely a Jamba Juice of some kind. But, alas, you keep showing up for work. Mr. Schwapp has informed me that as long as you keep "saddlin' up," I'm supposed to let you "rope 'n ride."But what if you were to come to work one day, only to find the hitching post were no longer there? What then, I wonder?
Muhahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahah!
No, Carli, you're not supposed to type my laugh. Wait - you're not supposed to type that either. Argh! It's as if you're trying to infuriate me. I'm sure you're doing the best of which you're capable. Don't give me that look - and whatever you do, don't tell Foster about this! As a matter of fact, if you promise not to tell him, there could be a little something in it for you. A woman of your age and social station would be enamored of shoes, yes? Well, I happen to know the owner of a military surplus store, and - stop typing!
I'll be in my office.
