Author’s note: If you haven’t already, you are invited to partake of the Banknotes Harper origin story.
“What’s up, dumb-ass? I’m about to fire the crap out of you because you suck at improving my margins. My margins are already the greatest in business history, but that’s not the point, ball-lips. You see, fuck-o, I hired you to drive me around in my Bible-black Duesenberg, which is made of steel and cocks, to business meetings while I sit in the after-market machine-gun turret and fire rubber bullets at the working poor. I told you to drive me to the secret NASDAQ skyscraper that only hot business bastards like me know about. I told you not to take the West Side Highway because it has too many civil servants driving on it. I also told you to introduce yourself as ‘Chappy Tap Shoes’ to my lesser associates — and every one of my associates is necessarily lesser. I told you to put a giant flag on top of my helicopter that reads, ‘Fuck All Y’All.’ I told you to stop sweating out the velour chauffeur’s cap I bought you, you sexless baldy. I told you to find me a solid-gold tuxedo that’s somehow flexible enough to allow me to practice my Krav Maga in it. You did all of these things dutifully and in respectful silence, but I’m firing you anyway because you smell like a bunch of boogers. Got it, cheese curl? Now I’m going to have all my cash bronzed and then go pork a bunch of people. Butt-face.”
(This piece originally appeared at FanGraphs. It has since been revised and made even worse, probably.)