To my former boss: Working for you was supposed to be enjoyable. I was going to make a positive impact within the community and was excited about the possibilities ahead. Already underpaid and stretched thin, you kicked me to the curb right before the holidays. Get the fuck over yourself... Ever hear of the medieval torture practice called scaphism? The victim—you—would be firmly fastened between two hollowed-out tree trunks (a kind of wooden capsule) with the head, hands, and feet protruding. He would then be forced to ingest milk and honey to the point of developing explosive diarrhea while more honey was rubbed on his body so as to attract a host of insects to the exposed appendages. The victim would then be left to float on a stagnant pond or simply exposed to the sun somewhere, while the diarrhea accumulated within the container, attracting more insects, which would eat and breed within the defenseless victim's exposed flesh. Septic tissue death, baby! Death by scaphism was painful, humiliating, and protracted—much like my tenure under you. Shove it up your ass.—Anonymous
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